


about suffering they were never wrong

by oopshidaisy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Insomnia, Isolation, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Physical Disability, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, That's it, Therapy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, fluff if you squint, for rhodey, it's post-cw no one's having a fun time, past unrequited steve/tony, references to past torture, the entire premise of the fic is 'tony stark gets therapy'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2018-10-01 02:53:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10179077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopshidaisy/pseuds/oopshidaisy
Summary: He begins to think that maybe he is Icarus, and maybe he will never stop falling - out of the wormhole, out of the sky.





	1. my past has tasted bitter for years now

**Author's Note:**

> title from W.H. Auden's 'Musée des Beaux Arts'
> 
> content warnings are in the tags, i've tried to be as thorough as possible but let me know if i've missed anything! also please tell me if anything i write is ableist or offensive - i've done my best but i've avoided therapy/counselling since i had to go to 6 sessions a couple of years ago and hated it, so dealing with my own issues has been pretty much non-existent since then,, and now i'm projecting them onto a fictional character. also, because it's all filtered through tony's consciousness, some of it's very self-deprecating and therefore not a totally accurate medical portrait of what's going on with him.

The therapist he’s been forced to see in the aftermath of Siberia says, ‘You have PTSD’, and he has a moment of thinking _no shit_ before he remembers that he’s never heard it said out loud before. _He’s_ never said it out loud before. Then the therapist—late thirties, grey pantsuit, dark skin and darker eyes—continues: ‘There are no shortage of coping strategies, but it won’t be easy, Mr. Stark. I think it could be beneficial for your friends and—well, it would be useful if they could join us for some of these sessions, to make sure you have a support structure in place.’ The absence of the word _family_ twists something in his gut. He feels sick.

‘I don’t want them to know,’ he says. He barely knows who he means by _them_. Who are his friends, anymore? Rhodey, certainly, who already knows about the anxiety attacks and who’s been a soldier long enough that he’s been able to infer the rest. Other than that…

‘Why not, Tony?’

She switches between _Mr. Stark_ and _Tony_ like they’re interchangeable, when Tony knows that there’s all the difference in the world between the modes of address. Steve rarely called him _Tony_. When he did, it felt monumental, like he’d done something to deserve it. That was often the way when it came to Steve: the small offers of friendship felt like the world, like everything important packed into a smile or a quick, grateful hug.

‘I don’t know,’ he admits. He feels tired, pushed past breaking point, trying desperately to sift through his brain for who his _friends_ are—people who aren’t colleagues or admirers, who he can rely on, who’d want to attend his _therapy_ sessions, he’s. He’s drawing a blank.

His therapist— _god, her name tag’s_ right there _; call her Emma_ —looks sympathetic. It might be her default expression when he’s in the room. He should pay more attention.

‘There’s not really anyone who’d really, I mean—I can get Rhodey to come, but he’s got his own shit, you know? Like, he’s not really into leaving the compound at the moment, not for long anyway, although it’s getting— _he’s_ getting—well, better? That’s the wrong word, I don’t. I don’t mean that there’s—it’s a disability, he’s learning to live with it. But I don’t think he’d want to come. When I’m here’s the only time he gets a break from me, anyway,’ he says. Self-deprecating smile. The kind of smile that’s just teeth: going through the motions. ‘And Pepper…she says we’re still friends but she hasn’t really, uh—she’s checked in on us a couple of times but it’s still not really friendship, you know? And Vision’s AI, probably not someone you’re interested in seeing.’

Emma smiles. ‘Do you think there might be a reason that you think no one has time for you?’

It’s leading questions like this that’re why Tony hates therapy. Everything he says will make it seem like he has attachment issues, which he _does_ , but it’s not… It’s just that he genuinely can’t think of anyone who’d want to be here, right now, watching him struggle over words and fidget like he hasn’t done since he was fifteen—jesus, he feels pathetic.

‘Most of my friends are superheroes.’ He smiles thinly. ‘They tend to lead busy lives.’

She’s kind enough not to pursue the line of questioning any further, and then it’s half an hour more of him talking, desperately and quick, expecting at any moment to look up and find Emma bored, distracted, asleep. She’s been trained for this, though, and she simply nods while he lays out the architecture of his week: physical therapy with Rhodey, movie nights providing lukewarm distraction, terse phone calls with Pepper and Fury, occasional emails from Maria, Vis learning to cook. He tells her about how watching _Star Trek_ made him cry and she tells him not to be ashamed of that, which is nice and all but doesn’t even begin to approach the root of the problem, which is that he feels constantly on the verge of something: tears or trembling or a racing heart which doesn’t know that it’s _meant_ to be healthy, fixed. _He’s_ meant to be fixed.

‘You’re not a robot, Tony,’ Emma says, when the session’s over. ‘You need to stop expecting yourself to be.’

It’s weird, he thinks, that the more metal that’s inside him, the more human he feels. Sometimes the absence of the arc reactor feels like it’s choking him; the light scarring on his chest the only reminder. The nightmares of waking up in a cave with a car battery hooked to his heart. He wonders if normal people are as aware of the rhythm of their internal organs as he is. There’s always some part of him dedicated to monitoring his heartbeat, paying close attention to every slip, every variation, every fault. His heart had stuttered when Steve— _Rogers_ , he corrects himself—plunged the shield into the glowing centre of the suit. Psychosomatic, he guesses. He hopes.

When he gets home Rhodey’s bedroom door is closed, which means he’s either sleeping or wants to be left alone, and Vision’s nowhere to be seen, which means he’s in Maximoff’s room synthesizing a new godawful sweater. Tony misses JARVIS, sometimes, he really does. Still.

‘Hey, FRIDAY,’ he says, for lack of anyone else to talk to. ‘How’re you doing?’

FRIDAY’s response is tepid, which isn’t really her fault. He should probably consider having a conversation with an actual person. It’s a Saturday afternoon, and there’s a social life he used to have that seems desperately out of reach, now.

‘Call the spider kid for me, FRI,’ he instructs, determined not to pour any whiskey until it’s dark outside. Which means he needs a distraction. A good suit upgrade, that nearly always works.

Peter picks up on the third ring and doesn’t say anything, because apparently no one teaches fifteen-year-olds about phone etiquette these days. ‘Boy Wonder,’ Tony says into the silence. ‘Fighting any crimes this afternoon?’

‘I, uh, hi Mr. Stark—I’ve got homework,’ Peter says, and Tony forces himself not to laugh. Rhodey’s told him enough times that he should at least _try_ to be a good influence on the kid.

So, instead, he says, ‘Good for you,’ and then, ‘If I get Happy to drop by and pick up your suit would you mind if I tinkered with it ‘til Monday?’

The rapturous way Peter thanks him is enough that Tony hangs up sooner than he should, pours himself some whiskey after all, calls Happy and tells him to get the suit to him within the next few hours, calls Helen Cho and asks her if she’s going to be at the facility anytime in the next couple of months. She tells him that she gets back from Berlin on Thursday, and then she says, ‘Missed me?’ like it’s a joke and Tony doesn’t know how to respond to that, doesn’t know what to do with the wide aching spaces of the compound, with the fact that no one’s a permanent resident and he doesn’t know how to ask them to be.

He says, ‘You wish,’ and Helen laughs, starts telling him about the conference she’s been attending and how one of the speakers acted like he’d invented the study of protein biochemistry, how she’d almost fallen asleep while he rambled on about his ‘ground-breaking’ research.

‘There was this one woman,’ she says, ‘Ariadne Lovett. You’d like her, she’s doing a lot of research into integrated prosthetics.’

‘I’ll give her a call.’

He probably won’t, but Pepper might. He hasn’t even thought about Stark Industries—except in the most abstract sense—for weeks, although he knows the applied sciences division has made the news a dozen times in that period. The work they’re doing is amazing, he’s frequently told: he should pay more attention.

Helen’s just saying goodbye when Rhodey emerges from his room, unassisted by anything but the leg supports, which are whirring grumpily. Tony raises an eyebrow at him and resists the urge to offer assistance, leans back against the granite tabletop while Rhodey walks—albeit slowly—into the kitchen area.

‘I’m only getting a coffee,’ he says before Tony can think of a non-patronizing way to ask if he’s okay. ‘I don’t need the stick for everything.’

‘Never said you did, sweetheart,’ Tony replies, anticipating the fond eye roll and grinning at it. ‘Any big plans for this evening? Hot date I should know about?’

Rhodey flips him the bird as he reaches for his mug, leaning a touch too heavily on the counter. ‘Yeah, the King of Wakanda’s picking me up at eight,’ he says. Tony laughs, passes him the sugar. ‘D’you want one?’ Rhodey asks, and his eyes are everywhere except the glass that’s still got a little whiskey in it; it’s one of those things they don’t talk about very often, so long as Tony’s got it under control. Under control enough, anyway.

‘Nah, I’m good,’ Tony says, and Rhodey makes him coffee with three sugars and no milk anyway—just how he likes it.

~

He only has to go to therapy once a week, because he’d thrown enough of a fit as it was (and, okay, looking back it’s a little embarrassing, yelling at Fury that he was emotionally stable) but he wasn’t allowed to get one of those therapists who make house visits, because Fury and Hill were very insistent that he had to get out of the facility ‘at least a couple of times a week, Stark, and we’ll be making sure.’

They all have their theories, he’s sure. Pin the mental illness to the superhero, a fun game for all the family. He watches their diagnoses play out across their faces when he mentions that he’s not sleeping, that he doesn’t want to appeal (for or against) the criminal charges against the vigilante known as Captain America, when he sharply cuts off any mention of New York. They look sympathetic, curious.

It’s like they know, intellectually, that he’s human, but they keep forgetting. He feels the familiar sensation of being an attraction, only this time he’s also an oddity. Being famous should have prepared him for this, for the way he feels separated from the constructions they’re building of him, like statues of him in their minds. With plaques for them to read, confirming their suspicions. _Tony Stark was a great man, but in the end his mind got the best of him._ And he crumbles, inside their minds and out.

Selvig tries to talk to him about the wormhole, once, and Tony snaps ‘shut the fuck up’ before he can even consider being polite about it, to which Selvig, icy, responds, ‘You’re not the only person who’s been through trauma, Stark.’ He hasn’t been around the compound ever since; Tony tries not to think about it. He tries not to think about a lot.

Because he _knows_ , is the thing. He knows they’ve all got it worse than him. Rhodey’s probably never going to regain feeling below the waist; he never found out why Fury’s got that eyepatch but he’s guessing it’s not a fun story; Maria keeps suspiciously tight-lipped about her time in the army before SHIELD snapped her up; Helen and Selvig both know too intimately the feeling of being brainwashed, out of control. The only inhabitant of the facility not on the knife edge of psychological collapse, he thinks, is Vision—and only because it shouldn’t, scientifically speaking, be _possible_ for him to have a breakdown.

Perspective: he’s not the only one with a past. Better to keep it to himself, choke down the nausea when someone mentions the wormhole, Loki, the spectre, New York, the Chitauri. Try not to have a panic attack while watching _Interstellar_ , because that would be ridiculous. That would be desperate for attention. Narcissistic.


	2. show me where my armor ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want to apologise in advance for the fact that there's quite a bit of (unrequited) steve/tony in this chapter: this isn't a stevetony fic at all but i thought it was necessary to explain tony's mental state and current feelings towards steve. i promise i am building towards rhodey/tony!!! i just love a good bit of slowburn
> 
> anyway the response to this has been lovely and all of the comments have been wonderful to receive!! ily guys x

When Helen gets back from Berlin, it’s Romanoff who drives her from the airport to the compound. Tony doesn’t realize this until Natasha is sat in his living room, flicking through Netflix while Helen unpacks.

‘I thought you hated me,’ he says, first and foremost.

‘Not everything’s about you, Tony,’ Natasha says, settling on _Mission: Impossible_ , which means there’s no way he’s not going to stay and watch it with her. He also texts Rhodey, who’s watched it a surprising number of times for someone who claims to think it’s stupid and unrealistic.

‘I didn’t say…’ Tony starts, but gives up preemptively. It’s hard to win an argument with Natasha, and more often than not it’s more trouble than it’s worth even when he _does_ win. ‘I thought you were on the run.’

‘I am. Are you going to turn me in to the relevant authorities?’

Tony thinks about all the effort that would require. ‘No,’ he says. ‘I can’t make any promises about Rhodey or Vision.’

‘I’ll take my chances, then.’

He wants to yell at her, to let out some of the frustration simmering hot in his blood, but it won’t help. She made her choices; he made his. If she’s here, she must want reconciliation in some degree and, deep down, that’s what he wants too; he’s just not sure he’s ready yet, to make peace with the people who betrayed him. It still feels like an open wound, like he’s poking it.

He sits down, a respectable distance away. The first scene of the film plays on mute. And he looks at it, doesn’t look at her, because he’s not sure what he’ll see in her face—he’s not sure what he’d even _want_ to see in her face, if he had any say in the matter.

‘Pepper asked me to check in on you,’ she says, and that’s almost worse, but at least it’s the truth.

‘Really,’ he responds, flat.

‘She’s worried. You don’t return her calls, haven’t been out publicly for a month. She’s asked Maria, but she didn’t want to betray your _trust_.’ The way that phrase rolls off Natasha’s tongue says a lot, he thinks. She says _trust_ the way most people say particularly nasty swear words.

‘So it makes sense she’d call you.’

‘I’m not the enemy, Tony.’

‘I never… Stop twisting my words. I just mean that I don’t need checking up on. I’m not a child,’ he says, and he knows it sounds petulant. Fuck it, though: he’ll be a dick if he wants, with her. Kindness would be unnatural.

Her sigh is almost inaudible, but it’s an irritant. One of many. He grabs the remote from between them and turns the sound on, clenches his jaw against the angry words he wants to fling at her. There’s a file out there with his name on it and a bullet point that says _Narcissistic Personality Disorder_ , and that’s her fault. It’s her fault that he second guesses half the moves he makes based on the criteria he read online, trying not to be _textbook narcissist_ , _the only person you really fight for is yourself_. It’s her fault that Rogers and Barnes are fugitives, not allowed to set foot on US soil, with Wakanda blocking extradition appeals and tensions between the two nations ratcheting upwards every day. It could have been prevented: _Tony_ should have prevented it. He shouldn’t have trusted Romanoff to get the job done. (That word again: trust. He fucking hates it.)

Rhodey joins them just as the first double agent’s revealed on-screen, just as Tony snorts pointedly and knows Natasha’s glaring but doesn’t bother looking up to check.

‘Rhodes,’ Natasha says, curt. ‘How are you?’

For all that it’s genuine, his smile lacks warmth. ‘Great. I ordered pizza while you were busy being a terrible host, Tones.’

Tony makes a lazily affronted noise and budges up so Rhodey can sit beside him. ‘What kind of pizza?’

‘I got pepperoni, Hawaiian and plain.’ He looks at Natasha. ‘I didn’t know what you and Helen liked, so one of you better be able to eat pizza with pineapple on it.’ Tony smiles, because it reminds him of their MIT days, arguing over which topping was best, only agreeing on the fact that pineapple was an abomination.

They’ve been eating too much takeout, lately, mostly Chinese because it’s Rhodey’s favourite, although he can’t use chopsticks for shit. They’ve been drinking too much coffee, bags under their eyes a constant indicator that they’re only running on caffeine. Tony’s constantly jittery on it, on junk food and caffeine and sugar; his hands won’t stop shaking except for when he’s tinkering with one of his suits, not allowing FRIDAY to make any adjustments that he could do with a bit of manual labour. _Coping mechanisms_ , he thinks they’re called. Being the Mechanic. Allowing himself, for a few blissful moments, to forget about his responsibilities. To forget about saving the world.

He hasn’t actually _worn_ the suit since Siberia. Even though the chest plate is no longer compressed in the crescent of Steve’s shield, he still feels the phantom, crushing sensation of it, even when he’s not confined within the metal.

He’s a superhero who can’t bring himself to wear his supersuit. There’s some kind of irony in that, or maybe it’s just that he’s not really a superhero anymore. He sure doesn’t _feel_ like one, can’t feel the gritty determination that propelled him in the first place, had him feeling like he was nothing if he wasn’t saving people, righting the wrongs he’d facilitated. Now, he just feels exhausted. Useless. Like he caused more evil to slither into the world by trying to prevent it.

He wonders if Rogers ever has doubts about his own righteousness, if he ever lets go of his pig-headed certainty that every decision he makes is the correct option—good and just and the American way. Steve was— _is_ —a man of absolutes, not a man floundering in the steely grey of morality, struggling not to drown in questions of goodness.

It’s hard to admit, but the letter Steve sent him sits beside his bed, creased by each re-reading and re-folding, telling himself _this is the last time I need to see the words_. He knows it by heart, knows every curve of the ink and every nuance of the hand-writing. He wishes he didn’t, but that’s just life. That’s just his perverse need to punish himself more and more, to pick up the letter and remind himself that Steve is _better_ than he is, than he can ever be. Steve Rogers, the embodiment of goodness, made into a vigilante. A criminal. The internet’s wild for it, loves a good debate and can’t let this one lie for more than a couple of minutes at a time. A particular highlight was the theory that Tony had premeditated the entire thing out of a desire to lead the Avengers, and it stings because technically he _is_ , leader of the skeletal Avengers that are left behind. He doesn’t want to be. So he re-reads the letter, over and over, wonders what it is to be a good leader, wonders whether he can be.

Then Rhodey’s hand’s on his knee and he’s jerked out of his thoughts and into the present, into Rhodey and Helen looking at him with concern and Natasha looking at him with reserved curiosity.

‘Sorry,’ he gets out. ‘What were you saying?’

‘It’s fine, you just looked a bit,’ Rhodey says, ‘lost.’

Tony dredges up a smile. ‘I’m fine,’ he lies. ‘How was your flight, Helen?’

‘Long,’ she says. ‘Thanks for the upgrade to first class, though. I actually got some work done, too, so tomorrow can we look over the radiation inhibitors? I think there are still some adjustments we need to make before testing.’

‘If you want to be boring about it,’ Tony grins.

‘Your self-destructive mad scientist methods aside,’ Helen says, ‘it’s good to be home. I didn’t realise how much I’d gotten used to having a state-of-the-art lab until it was gone.’

 _Home_. It takes him a moment before he can reply to that.

~

Natasha leaves when the movie finishes, when she’s eaten half a pizza and helped herself to a bottle of beer from the refrigerator. Tony almost doesn’t expect her to leave, expects it to be just like before for a wild moment—Nat moving back into the room that’s still _hers_ , really.

But she leaves.

Something unspoken means that none of them mention her departure; Rhodey turns on an episode of _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ that they’ve all seen already and Rhodey flicks Tony’s leg every time Peralta says or does something Tony would.

In return, Tony flicks Rhodey’s arm intermittently for no reason. They stay up until midnight (although Helen goes to bed earlier, claiming jet lag) and Rhodey lets Tony help him to his room, which feels oddly like progress. Rhodey’s even worse at asking for help when he needs it than Tony is, sometimes.

Before he leaves, Rhodey squeezes his wrist and says: ‘We _are_ your family, Tones. He was right about that.’ It’s not surprising that Rhodey’s read the letter, though Tony’s never directly shown it to him. If he’s being honest, he’s only surprised that it took this long for him to mention it.

He thinks about protesting about Rhodey going through his stuff, although they spend enough time in each other’s rooms enough that the minor infraction doesn’t come as a shock. After that one instance when Tony hacked into Rhodey’s email, he figures it’s a moot point.

So instead, he says, ‘Thanks,’ and twists his fingers until his hand’s in Rhodey’s—an approximation of a handshake, if he felt like masking his intention. For a long moment, the position’s suspended, and then Tony increases the pressure by a fraction and pulls away, his hand feeling somehow warmer than the rest of his body. Then he’s leaving, shutting the door behind him, listening to the rhythm of his pulse in his ears.

~

By session number four, he’s comfortable enough to tell the truth (or most of it, anyway): ‘I loved him.’

Emma doesn’t respond.

‘As more than a friend,’ he clarifies.

‘Have you ever said that out loud before?’ Emma asks. She’s wearing red lipstick today; it suits her. Her suit is navy blue, clearly inexpensive but flattering all the same. Tony finds himself fixated on a piece of lint on her sleeve.

‘No.’

‘You never told him? Or Ms Potts?’

He’d almost told Pepper—a few times. But he thinks she probably knew. It didn’t need to be said. ‘No.’

Emma hesitates minutely before asking, ‘Is she aware of your attraction to men? Is anyone?’

‘Yeah, ‘course she was. You forget she was my personal assistant for years. I used to make her kick out my one-night stands.’ He grimaces. ‘I don’t do that sort of thing anymore.’

‘There’d be no judgement if you did.’

‘Thanks, but I don’t. I was kind of a dick. Anyway, so she’s known for years. So’s Rhodey. I’m not, like. Sad and closeted, if that’s what you think. It’s not in the tabloids because of PR, but that’s, like—whatever, and Dad didn’t even live long enough to find out, so no worries about what he would’ve thought about it. Though it probably would’ve been something like, _Stark men aren’t sissies_ , that type of hypermasculine bullshit. He was a bit like that, generally. You can write down _daddy issues_ if you want.’

‘That’s quite alright, Tony; I’d surmised that one already.’ She grins at him.

He has to admit: he likes her. She knows when to be serious, and when to crack a joke. Knows how to put him at ease. Says _therapy’s what you make of it_ and, somehow, makes him believe it.

She asks, ‘When did you first realise you had feelings for,’ and he can see her trying to figure out what to call him, whether to go with _Captain Rogers_ or, ‘Steve?’

‘Well, I thought he was hot from the moment I saw him,’ he says, awkward with it. He’s never thought about it before: when the feelings mutated from annoyance to friendship to—that word: love. Feels too melodramatic, like he should be writing it in his diary. ‘Then…I don’t know. It took time. I thought he was sort of a dick, at first, and then after we’d worked together a couple times, I sort of—I wanted his approval. Realised I was making excuses to spend time with him.’ He laughs, bitter. ‘I was like a teenage girl with a crush, y’know: _please live in my spacious tower rather than a SHIELD-issue Brooklyn apartment_ , that sort of thing.’

‘You offered all of the Avengers a place to stay, though.’

‘Yeah, but I fucking hounded him about it, to be honest. Every time I saw him, making these stupid little comments like _how was he liking living the civilian life_ , little jabs like that. And he just thought I was being an asshole. I _was_ being an asshole.’

‘Um,’ Emma says, ‘if you’ll excuse the question, was he…?’

‘Straight?’ Tony laughs. ‘I don’t know, probably. It wasn’t like we ever got to the stage where we would talk about stuff like that. Mostly we just talked about the job, whatever the next plan was, how to improve teamwork. And it was always—it was always just a bit fucking tense, y’know? I don’t think he ever got over me calling him Capsicle.’

Emma snorts. ‘You called him _Capsicle_?’

‘Yeah, first time we met. Not the best way to make friends?’

‘Possibly not.’

‘Yeah, well, he probably never saw us as friends; I was probably kidding myself. I wanted to believe we were buddies, but there was always that animosity—we were always arguing, a bit,’ he says. ‘He sure knew how to push my buttons.’

‘Would you tell him the truth? If you saw him again.’

His instinct is to say, emphatically, _no_ , but then he considers it. The Avengers were ripped apart by secrets, and continuing to keep them feels counter-productive, selfish. Maybe Steve _does_ deserve an explanation for why everything between them felt so loaded, so flammable. So he says, ‘Maybe. If it came up.’

‘What would you say to him?’

‘Christ,’ Tony groans. ‘Are you gonna make me roleplay?’

‘No. Stop avoiding.’

He rolls his eyes. ‘I’d say to him, _hey, pal, the reason I was such a dick to you was that I had feelings for you, and I was expressing them like a kindergartener_. Does that work?’

Emma shrugs. ‘He did tell you that you were always welcome to call him. You could pick up the phone now, if you wanted to.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Why?’ she asks.

‘Because…I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. _Fuck_. It’s childish, I know, but he left. He left the Avengers, and he left me. I’m not going to go crawling back with declarations of love because he doesn’t _want_ them, and because telling him would. It would fucking—hurt. God, this is stupid.’

‘No, you’re doing really well, Tony. The more honest you are, the more I’m able to help you.’

‘Even if I can’t get a full fucking sentence out?’ His teeth are gritted, and he feels ripped open. It’s something he hasn’t felt since he first read the letter—since his last bitter, stinging contact with Steve.

‘Even then. I know it’s hard to say, but it’s important to verbalize your feelings.’

‘ _Now_ you sound like a shrink,’ he says.

She just looks back at him, unimpressed. He picks at the loose stitching on the arm of the sofa.

‘Fine,’ he says. ‘But it just. It feels finished, you know? He’s gone. I just want to move on, forget about all of it. I was never gonna act on it to begin with—I was with Pepper. So it doesn’t matter.’

‘You’re right,’ Emma says. ‘But just because it’s over doesn’t mean your feelings are gone with it.’

Tony notices that his palms are sweating. He resists the urge to wipe them on something, flexes his fingers a couple of times. ‘I hate him more than I love him, these days,’ he admits.

‘That’s understandable. He hurt you.’

‘Both physically and emotionally,’ Tony sighs. ‘So there’s probably something to be said about that, in some kind of masochistic sense. Or something. Sorry, I’ve got a bunch of PhDs but none of them are in psychology.’

‘You’re not meant to be the expert here.’

‘That makes a change,’ he says. When he looks at the clock, he sees they’ve already run ten minutes over: he shouldn’t have waited so long to bring out the unrequited love thing. Emma hasn’t mentioned the time, but he figures he should check: ‘Don’t you have other appointments today?’

He watches her eyes slide to the clock, watches the jolt in her shoulders when she realises her oversight. She recovers quickly, though, says, ‘No, Tony, it’s fine. Would you like to finish there for this week, though?’

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘We can just pick all the angst up next week, can’t we?’

She smiles. ‘How do you feel right now?’

‘Uh. Hungry, mostly.’

‘So you’re not feeling any anxiety about the conversation we’ve just been having?’ Emma asks. ‘It’s just…you’re visibly shaking.’

‘Huh. Well, yeah, I suppose, about the anxiety. I mean, it sure didn’t feel _fun_.’

‘Are you driving back?’

Of course she’s worried about that. Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d had a panic attack in a car.

‘Happy’s picking me up,’ he assures her.

She nods, mollified. ‘And, Tony? It’s okay that you loved him. It’s okay if you still do.’

~

He’s not still in love with Steve, or at least he doesn’t think he is. Sometimes, he’s aware, his brain betrays him on matters of emotion, matters that can’t be easily solved with logic or research. But he’s fairly sure absence hasn’t made the heart grow fonder and that, in fact, it’s made the constant longing retreat into something bearable, so that he isn’t as aware of it as he used to be—it’s like a bruise: he only feels it when he presses down on it.

Pepper, on the other hand: her absense is different, more present. He feels the weight of it constantly. He keeps waking up expecting her to be beside him, with her deep breathing that skirted the edge of a snore and the ratty t-shirts that she always slept in. Before they were together, he’d always thought of her as the kind of person to sleep in pyjamas that were somehow formal, an extension of her everyday wardrobe. The reality had been different, at first amusing and then comforting to him: he got to see her on those sleepy weekend mornings when her hair was a mess and one of his band t-shirts hung loose over her collarbones, when her feet slipped free of those intimidatingly high heels and padded across their kitchen.

And then she was gone.

And he thinks maybe he could’ve dealt with losing one of them, but both? He’s not so sure.


	3. show me where my skin begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god, i am so sorry i left this for so long. some of it was due to exam stress and some of it was just me being lazy. this chapter's kinda short but i just wanted to reassure u guys that i haven't abandoned it. 
> 
> anyway, i got rlly mad and started ranting about how tony stark is a Good Person who is in love with james rhodes earlier this week and decided to channel that anger into fic instead of tweeting about it. hope you enjoy!! x

Rhodey asks him, in that measured non-judgemental way, how he’s doing. It’s been a week since Tony last looked at Steve’s letter. It’s been three days since he last typed out a text to Pepper that he then deleted on the first re-read, its desperate-sounding cadences audible even when read on a phone screen.

‘Better,’ Tony says. ‘How about you, cupcake?’

He’s making breakfast, or trying to. Rhodey’s sat at the breakfast bar, trying to keep the amused smile off his face as he sips at his coffee. He’s not succeeding.

‘Better,’ he echoes. ‘The bacon’s gonna burn if you leave it any longer.’

‘Right.’

It’s times like these that Tony really regrets never learning to cook. Rhodey’s not a lot better, but at least he’s never fucked up scrambled eggs. To be fair to himself, Tony doesn’t even _like_ eggs, and he never eats breakfast of his own volition; he’ll admit, however, that most middle-aged men have mastered the art of frying bacon and that he should probably be ashamed of his ineptitude in that department. He figures that the longer he lives with other people, the closer he’ll get to being a domestic goddess.

‘How have you even survived this long without being able to cook?’ Rhodey asks.

‘Stop bitching and be grateful—I’m making you breakfast,’ Tony grins, laying out two plates.

‘I won’t be surprised if you end up poisoning me.’

‘See, that’s cruel,’ Tony says. ‘I’m emotionally wounded by your vindictive spirit. Be nice to me.’

Rhodey laughs at that, and it’s such a welcome sight that Tony joins in, feeling—despite himself—happier than he has in weeks.

Predictably, the breakfast is just the right side of edible, and Tony almost suggests going out for waffles instead. But Rhodey smiles at him, says _thanks_ and finishes his entire plate, a feat which even Tony himself can’t manage. The whole morning feels like it’s skirting the very edge of normalcy, and Tony loves every goddamn second of it.

~

He ignores four calls from Pepper that week, letting the phone ring through and waiting for voicemails that never come. The one time it happens when Helen’s in the room, she looks at him with unveiled sympathy and it seems, for a moment, like she might hug him. Instead, she says, ‘I’ll see what she wants, if it’s about the company,’ and Tony loves her a little for that, for never expecting him to handle more than he can.

He’s never known _how_ to care about people. He does it with lavish gifts and financial aid, offers people as much as he can give and hates himself when they won’t take it. He’s learned from the giant bunny incident, though; it won’t do him any good to just keep giving expensive gifts as a desperate attempt to indicate affection. There’s got to be another way.

Because, for all that he’s lost, there are still people he cares about who’ve stuck around, in ways that range from dropping in on him once in a while to being there for him in a way that only Rhodey’s ever been able to. Rhodey’s the only person Tony’s never felt like he has to pretend for; he’s always seen through any bullshit on Tony’s part anyway, far too perceptive for his own good.

In all honesty, Tony’s used to being alone: he remembers Rhodey’s first few tours overseas, long before he considered Pepper a friend, when he’d rattled around a mansion that he couldn’t bring himself to describe as ‘home’, waiting with twitchy anxiety for Rhodey’s letters and spending more nights drinking alone than he cares to contemplate. This, now—having Rhodey and Helen as houseguests for the foreseeable future, feeling almost responsible for the spider-kid, being put to occasional use by Maria Hill—it’s far from his lowest point. So he clings to that, as a technicality.

It’s becoming easier to pretend things are normal, and he’s not sure how he feels about that. Sparring sessions with Steve have begun to feel like a memory from another lifetime, and there’s no itch in his fingers to press accept when Pepper calls. That’s something like moving on, he thinks.

Another week, and Emma uses the word ‘progress’ during their session. She says, ‘You’re looking better, too. Less…gaunt.’

 _Loss of appetite_ , he thinks. _She’s been keeping track._ He wonders if there’s a depression checklist in a folder somewhere, wonders how many boxes she’s ticked under his name. He manages to smile. ‘That’s good.’

She changes the subject, because she knows him well enough by now that he’s sure she can tell when he’s uncomfortable. It’s weird, to have someone other than Rhodey or Pepper know him that well. Then she says, ‘We haven’t spoken about Iron Man,’ and Tony tenses up all over again.

‘We don’t need to,’ he says.

Her smile is kind, non-judgmental. It makes him feel worse. ‘It’s been six weeks, Tony, and you haven’t once mentioned how being a superhero has affected all of this. I know it’s been difficult for you, giving it up.’

‘No one made me stop,’ he says, quiet.

To her credit, Emma takes the admission in her stride. She’d probably assumed he was on mandatory psychological leave, which wouldn’t have been such a bad idea on Fury’s part, now Tony thinks about it. ‘So what made you take a break?’ she asks.

It feels like the words well up in his throat before he says them, an outburst he hadn’t known he needed. ‘I…can’t. If I get in the suit again, I don’t think I can—I told you about the panic attacks, right? After New York?’

‘You said you hadn’t experienced many since then.’

‘Yeah, but only because I don’t even leave the house most days and I never do anything even remotely stressful and I know that if I get back in one of the suits it’ll be too much, and I won’t be able to help anyone.’

‘Personally, I wouldn’t recommend any superhero-ing until you’re absolutely sure that you’re ready,’ Emma says.

‘I know,’ Tony replies, and he tries to sort through the words he wants to say before he blurts them out, because they’re important. ‘But people are always in trouble, and I’m not doing anything to help them. And if I _can_ , surely it’s wrong that I’m not. That I’m being a coward, hiding out in the compound when I could be _saving people_ …’

‘Do you think less of Rhodey because he’s taking a break from being War Machine?’ Emma asks, which is enough of a surprise that Tony can only blink at her for a couple of seconds.

‘Uh, he can barely walk at the moment, so no. I’d never think any less of him.’

‘Why don’t you regard your mental health as being a similar barrier to you being Iron Man?’ she asks.

‘Because…’ he says. ‘God, I don’t know. It feels like I should just be able to get over it.’

Emma raises her eyebrows. ‘Tony, the last time you were in that suit, someone you considered a friend and teammate stabbed its power source with a shield your abusive father made for him. If you were able to recover from a trauma that huge in a matter of weeks, I’d be astonished.’ She takes a breath. ‘No one is blaming you for taking some time for yourself.’

Tony laughs derisively. ‘Have you ever been on the internet? Of course people are blaming me. And all the while Steve’s out there still saving people, showing he’s a better superhero than I can ever be…’

‘It’s not a competition.’

‘I know, but it’s like. I try to save the world and I end up creating genocidal artificial intelligence. I try to take responsibility for that fuck-up and I end up destroying the Avengers.’ He laughs shortly. ‘I don’t think I’m very good at being a superhero at all, to be honest.’

‘I had a patient, once,’ Emma says, ‘and her mom was dying, slowly, from a disease no one had found a cure for. She was distraught, obviously. Turned to religion, turned away from it again. Then one day she comes in for her session, in a complete daze, saying that there’s news of some miracle cure, that trials are starting in a few months and she’s trying to get her mom on the program. For the first time since I’d started seeing her, she had hope. And that was thanks to Stark Industries. That was thanks to you.’

‘I had nothing to do with…’

‘You stopped making weapons. You turned a company dedicated to taking lives into one that works to save them. Without you, Stark Industries would’ve kept on making bombs and guns, and that woman’s mother would’ve died. And that’s just one example. You know your company is leading the global market in renewable energy, and you know the benefit of the technological advances it’s making on a daily basis. You _are_ saving lives, Tony.’

‘Pepper’s the CEO, I barely have anything to do with running the company anymore.’

‘I remember reading about the work you were doing on technology allowing people to recreate and relive memories,’ Emma says. ‘Do you know what most therapists would do to get their hands on that?’

‘Yeah, it’s still in the early stages, we still haven’t come up with a decent name, but I reckon I could work something out for you if you want.’

Emma’s lips twitch. ‘I prefer talking to my patients, Tony, but thank you.’

‘Technophobe,’ he responds genially. ‘Anyway, I take your point. I just feel like I should be doing more, you know?’

‘I think your past experiences with pushing yourself past your limit should be reason enough for you to go easier on yourself,’ Emma says. ‘It’s only been a month and a half. We can revisit the issue when you’ve had a little more time to recover, but short of any world domination schemes that you could prevent, I think you’re off the hook for a while.’

And even though he still doesn’t quite agree, it’s nice to hear.

~

Tony’s about to fall asleep on Rhodey’s shoulder, four days later, curled up on the couch, when the TV that’s playing quietly in the background mentions _Captain Steve Rogers, best known as vigilante crime fighter Captain America_. Tony stiffens, and he knows Rhodey feels it.

‘Do you want me to turn it off?’ he asks, running his thumb over Tony’s upper arm. Tony shuts his eyes and turns his face into Rhodey’s neck, mumbling ‘turn it up’ and feeling Rhodey’s silent disapproval even as he complies.

The report isn’t anything out of the ordinary, simply mentioning a recent illegal shipment of weapons that Captain America had prevented, reporting on the trial of the criminals he’d apprehended, and then opening the question of whether vigilantism is morally right or not out to a couple of commentators from across the political spectrum.

One man, a self-described staunch libertarian, takes up most of the discussion by simply talking louder than everyone else and interrupting whenever the opportunity arises. A young journalist for the New York Times, with shoulder-length red hair and a reedy voice, says, ‘But we have the _real_ Avengers, the ones who aren’t allowed to do whatever they want. We don’t need vigilantes when we have actual superheroes.’

The libertarian replies, ‘Where are they, then?’

Tony sags and Rhodey switches the TV off, holding Tony tighter against him. ‘It’s okay,’ he whispers into his hair. ‘I’ve got you, Tones.’ Tony tries not to cry, fails.


	4. all that i want is to wake up fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: this chapter deals with implied child abuse (Howard's parenting), nightmares which include (vague-ish) depictions of violent death, a panic attack, references to unhealthy eating habits, a generalised depiction of depression, and insomnia. 
> 
> there are also some cheerful moments, i promise.

He used to dream about going into space. When he was a kid, he designed rocket ships and space crafts and because he was _him_ , most of them were halfway operational. He watched _Star Trek_ re-runs obsessively, perfecting his Kirk and Spock impressions on a sweltering August afternoon, beaming when Jarvis took him to buy the accompanying action figures, biting back on childish tears when his father called them ‘sissy toys’.

When _Star Wars_ came out, he was seven and a half and his mother had taken him to see it at a regular cinema, a couple of days after another disappointing Christmas with too many presents and not enough of anything resembling holiday spirit. Howard had insisted Tony should stay home and not waste his time on the trivial when he was finally managing to be _impressive_ , building engines from scraps and even starting work on rudimentary robotics. Maria, too often belittled by her husband, put her foot down. ‘He’s seven, Howard,’ Tony remembers her saying, from his perch at the top of the stairs, listening to their raised voices. ‘You need to let him be a kid.’

He’d loved _Star Wars_ , had gone to watch _The Empire Strikes Back_ and _The Return of the Jedi_ with his mother beside him each time; though he’d been at boarding school by the time the latter was released, she’d driven up and taken him out of classes for the day, the only condition being that he mustn’t tell his father.

Even though he was only thirteen, his classes were with eighteen-year-olds. He still didn’t feel challenged enough. He’d built a miniature, operational Millenium Falcon in his (private, elegantly furnished) dorm room and had flown it around the grounds, wishing ardently that one day he’d be able to explore outer space (preferably in a craft far safer than the Falcon—Tony had more than a few issues with the design as it stood). He knew better than to hope that his father would be proud of such an invention—more likely, he’d ask why Tony wasn’t designing a missile and would deride popular cinema as brainless and unstimulating for the genius Tony _should_ be, if he wasn’t such a disappointment.

That was the year Tony built the prototype that would later provide the inspiration for DUM-E. He didn’t give it a name.

He looked up at the stars, learning the names of the constellations and charting their progress with the wide-eyed wonder of a young scientist. It was under the stars—late at night and way after curfew—that he met Anna. She was four years older, bright and funny, and she was the first girl he ever thought he loved. But he was still only fourteen, gangly with what would prove to be his final growth spurt (and still shorter than her), not remotely at home in his own body. She saw him as more of a kid brother, ruffled his hair and talked science with him until the early hours of the morning, curfew be damned. Years later, she got a job at Stark Industries, designing satellites.

His first love was kind; his second wasn’t. But that’s another story.

He would go to sleep, back then, dreaming of the kinds of life out there. He dreamed of a universe waiting to be explored, awakened, discovered. He dreamed of meeting alien life, and it sent a thrill through him to imagine it. He woke up smiling.

~

Now, the thought of space in its restless, violent blackness sends ice through his veins and wakes him up in the middle of the night, biting blood into a scream he won’t let out.

~

‘Do you still get nightmares?’ Emma asks, session eighteen.

Tony laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

~

‘Emma called,’ Rhodey says when he gets home. ‘She said she can’t disclose patient information, but that I should be here when you get home. What’s up?’

‘Oh, I had a panic attack,’ Tony says, waving a hand flippantly. ‘Or, I don’t know, an attack of hysteria. Something. I’m fine now, honest. Do you want waffles? I feel like making waffles.’

‘Man, I gotta say…’

‘No,’ Tony cuts him off. ‘You don’t gotta say anything. Sorry if Emma worried you, or whatever. I told her not to call.’

‘Tones,’ Rhodey says, in that deliberate, no-nonsense tone that makes Tony feel like he should stand to attention or something. He says as much, and Rhodey breathes out half a laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners. ‘Dude, when something like that happens I _want_ her to call me. I want to know what’s going on with you. It’s the same reason Mark keeps sending you updates on physical therapy. Support.’

‘Sure. Only I’m fine. It was a one-time thing—I’m getting better. Promise.’

Rhodey snorts, patting the space next to him on the couch. ‘Would you feel finer if someone stroked your hair.’

‘Only for you, stud.’

~

It hasn’t been like this for years: the closeness. They grew up, grew past the stage where Tony would climb all over Rhodey like an over-sized cat, snuggle into his chest while they watched shitty films and threw popcorn at the TV. Tony knows he was a weird kid, desperate for attention and affection wherever he could get it, annoyed by the older MIT students treating him like a particularly irritating insect. Rhodey was the closest to him in age, so they’d gravitated towards each other almost immediately. And although Tony had never been unpopular, exactly, he couldn’t remember ever meeting someone who _got_ him in the same way Rhodey did. He was the perfect storm of attributes that drew Tony to a person: the intellect, the recklessness, the cocky grin and kind eyes.

Back then, he’d draped himself over Rhodey whenever he got the chance – a head in his lap, or curled into his side, socked feet poking his thigh. Rhodey hadn’t minded; they were both tactile and lonely, being shunned from the traditions of student life. Falling into each other’s space was a natural thing, felt inevitable.

They’d been kids, soft in oversized MIT hoodies and ratty sweatpants, with Rhodey’s hand sifting through the messy tendrils of Tony’s hair until Tony fell asleep practically on top of him. Some of Tony’s fondest memories are of those lazy afternoons, back before his parents had died and responsibility had crashed down on him.

They’ve been through too much to be able to recapture those days, but when Rhodey tells him to ‘come here’, wraps him up in something that’s halfway between a hug and a full-on cuddle, part of him feels like a teenager again.

~

The next morning, Maria Hill strolls into the kitchen holding a newspaper, which isn’t particularly a cause for alarm except for how Tony hasn’t seen anyone he knows reading a newspaper since 2003.

Sure enough, she’s making a point.

‘Have you seen today’s headline?’ she asks, which is probably a trick question, so Tony manages to hold his tongue. Instead of responding, he glares at Vision for letting her in before he’s had time to change into, at the very least, a band t-shirt and blazer. She tosses the newspaper onto the counter and Tony very pointedly doesn’t look at it. He knows he isn’t going to like what he sees.

He begins the mechanical movements of loading grounds into the coffee maker. It’s not for Maria; she’s already holding a Starbucks cup and besides, he isn’t feeling very hospitable towards SHIELD agents who barge into his home at eight am on a—actually, he doesn’t know what day it is. Midweek, maybe? The point is, if he has to deal with this he’s going to wake Rhodey up with the smell of coffee so he doesn’t have to face it alone. That’s what best friends are for, he thinks.

No one speaks, and the silence begins to feel uncomfortably weighted.

‘Hill,’ he says, for lack of anything else, ‘how are you?’

She looks distinctly unimpressed. ‘Just peachy, Stark,’ she says. ‘It’s not like the Avengers are a walking PR disaster right now or anything. That would make my job a nightmare, wouldn’t it?’

‘So, no niceties, then,’ Tony responds. ‘That’s…great. Really great. Give me, I don’t know, ten fucking minutes maybe? Jesus.’

His hands are shaking when he pours the coffee into the two mugs on the counter. As he heaps four teaspoons of sugar into his—the bright red one with the chip in the rim—he tries to remember the last time he ate a full meal. He thinks it might have been breakfast, the day before yesterday. It’s just that therapy always makes him feel sick, or at least fucks up his appetite. Funny, he considers, how that’s the kind of thing he should probably tell his therapist.

The second mug is coated in camouflage print and emblazoned with ‘COLONEL JAMES RHODES’. Tony stirs in half a spoon of sugar, because Rhodey prefers it that way even though he’ll never admit it. He always says he takes his coffee black and strong (‘Kind of like you,’ Tony had said, once, not justifiably drunk. ‘Never, ever say that again,’ Rhodey had replied). The mug’s a stupid present from when Rhodey had first reached the rank, a gift that Tony had handed over whilst resolutely looking away, because it had seemed like such a good idea at first but _really, a personalised mug, that’s the best you can do?_ –

but Rhodey had liked it, looked a little surprised for a moment before letting a smile spread across his face, easy. ‘I would’ve expected some kinda stupid joke on here somewhere,’ he’d said. And Tony had grinned, showed him the other half of the set: his very own pink camo mug printed with ‘COLONEL’S WIFE’. Revenge had been a long time coming, but Tony now has an entire personalised kitchen set covered in ‘MR STANK’.

He ignores Maria’s polite glare and goes to Rhodey’s room. ‘I made coffee,’ he calls through the door, knocking.

‘Fuck off,’ comes the response, which Tony takes as permission to come in.

‘That’s not polite,’ he says, and sits next to Rhodey’s cocoon of blankets, ‘we have guests. Well. _A_ guest.’

Years of military service mean that Rhodey doesn’t have much trouble getting up and ready quickly, although he grumbles about it the whole time, up to and including telling Tony to leave so he can get changed.

‘I came here to escape Hill’s clutches, buttercup,’ Tony says. ‘I’m not leaving until you come with me to face the lioness.’

Rhodey rolls his eyes, which is fair. ‘Turn your back, then.’

‘Like I haven’t seen it all before,’ Tony snorts.

‘Not what I was worried about,’ Rhodey says. ‘It’s still pretty slow-going and I don’t trust your hero complex not to kick in when I have trouble getting my pants on.’

Tony actually laughs at that, in a way that feels like it’s scratching against his throat. His hands are still shaking. He begins to wonder if caffeine is really the answer.

It doesn’t take Rhodey too long to get dressed, despite what he said, and when Tony offers a hand to help him up, he takes it. ‘You, uh,’ Tony coughs, ‘you might want to play on her sympathy, a bit. She’s on the warpath.’

Rhodey’s eyes twinkle as he winds an arm around Tony’s waist. ‘I’m sure it’s only you that’s pissing her off.’

‘I resent that.’

As they leave the room, Tony thinks about the matching MIT hoodies that hang in both his and Rhodey’s closets. There’s something to be said for history, he thinks. For the decades they’ve spent learning each other’s habits and knowing what the other wants to say before they have to say it. If there’s one good thing that’s come from the damn Accords, it’s living with Rhodey for the first time since he was seventeen. He hadn’t realised how much he missed living out of each other’s pockets.

It’s that thought that keeps him calm when they make it out to the living area, to where Maria’s still staring at that damn newspaper with frightening intensity.

‘They’re being called the _Secret Avengers_ , now,’ she informs them, scowling. ‘Kids love them. Sales of Captain America action figures have gone up. When compared with Iron Man, or War Machine…’

Tony stalks past her, grabs both the mugs from the counter and hands Rhodey’s over, swallowing a gulp of his and ignoring how it’s still scalding. ‘Catchy,’ he says. ‘You’ve gotta admit, _Secret Avengers_? It’s got a ring to it. Sounds edgier than the plain old Avengers, for sure. We should work on our name. That’ll solve all of our problems, probably—if not, we can always start advertising more action figures.’

‘Mock me all you like, Stark,’ Maria snaps, ‘but publicity is actually an important aspect of this situation. We need you to start doing interviews. Become the face of the Avengers again—stop acting like a recluse, essentially.’

‘No,’ Tony says, at the same time as Rhodey says, ‘I’ll do it.’

‘Your offer is appreciated, Colonel,’ Maria says, lip curling. ‘But I’m afraid you don’t exactly have the same star status as the infamous Tony Stark.’ She sighs. ‘Right now, it seems like you guys are in the government’s pocket, which doesn’t appeal to anti-authority citizens. The Secret Avengers, or whatever they want to call themselves, represent an enticing, illegal alternative.’

‘So _I’m_ the goody-two-shoes and St—Cap is the rebel? God, when did I walk into the mirror universe.’

Hill raises her eyebrows. ‘It’s not like you’ve been acting out the way you used to, Stark. One might even be inclined to say that you’ve…grown up.’

‘I’m flattered, really, but what do you want me to do? Go clubbing? Get drunk and smash up my house again? Sex tape? I’m drawing a blank here.’

He can see, out of the corner of his eye, Rhodey covering an amused smile with his hand.

‘You just need to do some goddamn interviews,’ Maria says. ‘Reassure people that we’re still fighting for their freedom and safety, et cetera. Explain why you’re taking a break from being Iron Man…’

‘And why’s that, exactly? What’s the official story?’ he asks, and knows before she says it.

‘You’re exhausted. It’s a much-needed break.’

‘Some break, with you throwing me in front of the media.’

‘Some might say it’s an easier job than saving the world,’ Maria says.

‘Some might be wrong.’

‘You’ve been dealing with the media your entire life,’ Rhodey cuts in, effortlessly reassuring. ‘You’ll be fine.’

‘You do remember that time I threatened an international supervillain and smahed a reporter’s phone, right? Or that time I spontaneously came out as Iron Man? _Or_ the time I spontaneously came out, period, and PR had a fucking field day trying to cover it up?’

Maria manages to school her expression from an initial reaction of shock to her usual, more neutral mask. ‘I never heard about that,’ she says, careful.

‘You wouldn’t have, I was twenty-two,’ Tony says. ‘It was swept under the rug quickly enough, made to seem like part of the grieving process. You know: rich kid’s parents die, he goes off the rails and claims to be attracted to guys, the usual.’

‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,’ Maria says, and Tony’s reminded of why he’d started to like her, before all of this bullshit. He’s not quite sure whether she’s apologising for his parents’ death or the decades-long closeting, but he’s willing to appreciate either.

‘Can I have some time to think about this?’ he asks. ‘It’s just that it’s you and Fury who said I had to do this whole therapy thing because I’m not mentally stable enough to be Iron Man, and now you want me to get out in front of cameras to talk up a team of superheroes that’s all but fallen apart. You can see where the disconnect occurs, right?’

‘Of course,’ Hill says, and she actually smiles at him. ‘We will need an answer from you soon enough, but I understand that this is a difficult time for you.’

He’s beginning to feel patronised, but he supposes he’s brought it on himself by mentioning the therapy. ‘I’ll call you this evening,’ he promises. ‘Or text. Either way, I’ll let you know.’

~

‘If there’s one thing you’ve perfected over the years,’ Rhodey says, ‘it’s making a good headline.’

‘You always know just what to say, honey bear,’ Tony says sarcastically, batting his eyelashes. He can smell the bacon that Helen’s making, and his stomach lets out a pitiful growl.

Rhodey rolls his eyes. ‘Don’t get defensive,’ he says. ‘You just have to tell the truth. It’s public opinion that pushed the Registration Act through Congress, and getting them to do something in the interest of the public is nothing short of a miracle. You’ve just gotta remind everyone why they wanted this. Talk about accountability; you’re good at that.’

‘You’d be better,’ Tony tells him, honestly.

‘Flattery’ll get you everywhere, darlin’.’

‘James Rupert Rhodes. That was a pet name. You actually called me a pet name,’ Tony says, beaming. ‘Oh my god, FRIDAY, did you get that on tape?’

From the kitchen, there’s the unmistakable sound of Helen giggling.

‘I hate you both,’ Rhodey says.

‘Would you like me to save the tape, sir?’ FRIDAY asks.

‘I hate all three of you,’ Rhodey corrects himself. ‘For god’s sake.’

‘Nothing has ever been more important to me than saving that tape, FRIDAY,’ Tony says. ‘It’s gonna play on repeat at our inevitable wedding, everyone’s gonna cry. They’ll say—that was the moment.’

‘In your dreams, Stark.’

‘How could you hurt me like this, fruit loop?’

‘Does anyone want bacon?’ Helen calls.

‘I love you,’ Tony calls back. ‘Never leave me.’

‘I thought Rhodey was your one and only,’ she grins. ‘You’re gonna make him jealous.’

‘I’m _right here_ ,’ Rhodey groans, burying his face in his hands.

‘Rhodey wants bacon, too,’ Tony says, ignoring him.

~

It’s a recurring dream he has, that Rhodey’s dead or dying. It’s wrong to call it a dream, but nightmare’s an equally insufficient descriptor. Mostly, these days, it’s Rhodey’s fall that kills him. The dream starts anywhere from the moment he hits the ground to the funeral to ten years after he’s gone. Sometimes it’s just an image of a grave shrinking amongst the thousands and thousands in a military cemetery, American flag waving pitifully in the breeze.

He can’t decide which of the dreams is worst, although the only time he’s ever woken up in the middle of the night and had to rush to the bathroom to puke is after his subconscious helpfully blurs together a montage of images and sounds: _wormholefallingpepperfallingRHODESfallingeverythingfa—_

The unpleasant swooping sensation in his stomach hadn’t gone away for the rest of the day.

A couple of times, he dreams about Rhodey watching him die. Normally Tony dies in his dreams with someone’s hands around his throat: Obie’s or Killian’s or even once, memorably, Howard’s.

They never thought they were immortal, but Tony’s sure they used to see death as something impossibly distant. Even when Rhodey signed up to the army, it was with the faint cockiness that he’d perfected, the easy smile that reassured Tony right up until the moment he was gone.

Rhodey still thinks of himself as a soldier, Tony’s pretty sure, although most would call him a superhero. He’s different from the rest of them, in that way, straddling the line between official military service and ‘avenging’. The War Machine armor…it never defined him in the same way Iron Man defines Tony. Even when he was in the suit, Rhodey saw himself as being on the front line, ready and willing to die for what he believed was right.

It’s a kind of bravery that Tony was never able to comprehend until the moment he was flying into a wormhole carrying a nuke, knowing that this was the only thing that could be done, and that really he didn’t matter at all.

And Rhodey had yelled at him for that, the only time he’s ever seriously yelled at Tony, loud and angry and heart-breaking. It’s the most helpless Tony has ever felt: standing there not knowing how to explain what he did, except that he knew it was right. ‘It’s not that,’ Rhodey had said, quieter. ‘It’s that you…you didn’t even think to tell me. You could’ve said goodbye, and you didn’t. I can’t forgive you for that.’

Tony still doesn’t know whether it was a thing said in the heat of the moment, or if Rhodey still hasn’t forgiven him. He’s too scared to ask.

The War Machine suit is still government property, still belongs to the US Army if they see fit to use it. Tony’s not convinced that anyone else can pilot it as well as Rhodey, considering all the adjustments he made so that it was more of an extension of its pilot. But both he and Rhodey have tried to reclaim it, with a similar lack of success. They haven’t spoken about what will happen if someone else becomes War Machine; when Tony thinks about a different Iron Man, it feels like a punch to the gut.

He thinks he’d steal the suit back, if Rhodey asked him to. He’d get caught, but it’d be worth it.

All of this is why he can’t sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am forever indebted to sierra, who didn't immediately unfriend me when i sent her a message asking her to check if i was describing the american coffee-making process correctly. because she is the love of my life, she responded: 'do you want me to like write you a step by step making coffee guide?? and we're talking tony stark here right so he has the posh shit'. and then she wrote me a step by step making coffee guide. 
> 
> so in case you're wondering why this update took nearly a month, it's because i genuinely end up obsessing over details like that


	5. the gold-hearted boy i used to be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched Spider-Man: Homecoming yesterday and this is now officially canon divergent! (It kind of was already, since I was basically ignoring the dissolution of SHIELD.) Anyway, I was beyond thrilled to see that the Tony of the actual MCU seems to be happy and surrounded by people he loves. It is sort of the polar opposite of this fic, though. 
> 
> Content warnings for this chapter: suicidal thoughts, along with all the other stuff.

Here is what he doesn’t tell his therapist: when he thought Steve was going to kill him, he felt relieved.

It’s not something he’s proud of, nor is it something he enjoys thinking about now that the moment’s passed. It’s just: it wasn’t like that any of the other times he thought he was going to die. When he woke up in the cave, hooked up to a car battery, his only thought had been to fight for survival, whatever it would take. When Obie pulled the arc reactor from his chest, he’d been filled with a desperate _need_ to go on living, to save Pepper and his father’s legacy from the monster he’d thought was a mentor, or at least a friend. Since then, there have been countless moments when he was sure it was the end, but never before Siberia had he _wanted_ it to be.

But, for all his hoping, what Steve had killed was the Iron Man suit, not Tony Stark. For a bizarre moment, he thinks of Fury saying _Iron Man yes, Tony Stark not recommended_. He thinks that Steve might have killed the one part of him that was good for something.

The shield is still in Steve’s old bedroom, laid out on the bed like it’s waiting for him to take it back. Tony’s never much liked looking at it, not even when he was a kid and his dad had shown him pictures. The only time Howard ever seemed truly happy was when he was talking about that shield, or about Steve himself. ‘It was a masterpiece,’ he’d said, and Tony hadn’t been brave enough to ask if he was talking about the shield or the man.

He tightens his tie and thinks about watching Steve raise the shield up, remembers the dizzying knowledge that after all he’d been through, his death was to be at the hands of someone he loved. In that instant, he’d thought it fitting.

‘You shouldn’t be in here,’ Rhodey says, shadowed in the doorway.

‘Yeah, well.’

‘It’s only one interview, Tones.’

‘And I’ll have to…denounce him. Call him a criminal,’ Tony says. ‘An outlaw. God, it does sound kind of like those old Westerns we used to watch.’

‘When you weren’t fantasizing about being a knight in shining armor, you were wishing you were a cowboy,’ Rhodey smiles. ‘You can say he’s a good man. He’s just misguided.’

‘Old-fashioned,’ Tony says, smirking.

‘Maybe. Wasn’t too long ago you would’ve loved to stick a middle finger up at those bureaucrats on Capitol Hill. In fact, I remember you doing so on several notable occasions. But this time it’s different.’

‘I know.’

‘This bill is the right thing for the country right now, and the world,’ Rhodey says. ‘You know that. I know that. 67% of the American public knows that, if polls are to be believed. It’s not a hard sell.’

Tony quirks a smile. ‘I’ll do my best, sweetie.’ He pauses. ‘Although if they make me go on Fox News after this, I quit.’

‘We’ll work up to that.’

~

The interview goes well, which is to say that Tony gets at least a few of his main points across and manages to be as charming as he usually is in public. He ignores the twinge in his chest when he’s asked the perfectly innocuous question of what he’s doing with his time off.

‘You know me,’ he says, because most people think they do, ‘I’m still finding ways to have fun.’

~

‘That was great,’ Maria tells him, afterwards. ‘A really good start.’

He says, ‘Thanks,’ and tries not to think about how long this circus will have to go on, how long he’ll have to be the face of it.

Outside the studio, he signs autographs, the rhythm of it easy and familiar. ‘You’re my hero, Iron Man,’ one kid says, eyes round and adoring. Tony feels sick.

~

He takes a deep breath. ‘What about medication?’ he asks Emma the next day, a bit of a catch in his voice.

‘For you, I wouldn’t recommend it.’

A part of him’s relieved. Another part wishes there was an easy fix, a way to stop everything from being so overwhelming. ‘Why not?’ he asks.

‘Because you have an addictive personality,’ Emma says. ‘I don’t mean that as an insult, but it is something to consider.’

‘Antidepressants aren’t addictive,’ Tony says. ‘Neither are sleeping pills.’

‘Not chemically,’ Emma agrees. ‘But that doesn’t mean that people don’t develop a reliance on them. There’s no guarantee that it would be the case with you, but I’d rather err on the side of caution.’

‘Yeah, that’s fine. I was just wondering.’

She smiles. ‘I understand. Do you feel like your mental health is improving—are these sessions helping at all?’

He hesitates. ‘There are good days and bad days. Which sounds cliché, but. Sometimes I wake up and it feels like too much to even get up, then other times I haven’t slept at all and I’m still in the workshop and everything’s started blurring together.’

‘And the good days?’

He shrugs. ‘Sometimes I’m just hanging out with Helen or Rhodey, and everything starts to feel all right. And then I worry that I made everything up for attention.’

‘That’s definitely not something you need to worry about. If there are times when you’re able to feel happy, you should hang on to that.’ She looks at his raised eyebrows and laughs. ‘I know it’s easier said than done. It’s certainly one of the most difficult parts of dealing with mental illness, allowing yourself to feel happy—or even just okay—without guilt.’

~

Even with Rhodey, Helen and Vis, and the constant milling presence of those Stark Industries employees who drop in to use the state-of-the-art labs, the compound still feels a little bit empty. It’s mostly the excessive size, but it’s also habit. Over the past seven years, Tony’s grown alarming accustomed to sharing his space with other human beings (and, occasionally, a god). He wants to somehow fill the empty spaces, the rooms that still cling onto their previous occupants’ clutter. Wanda’s room is suspended in its youthful girlishness, jewellery hanging from the shelves, guitar propped up in the corner. The crucifix necklace that Steve had given her for her twenty-fourth birthday, before she’d told them she was Jewish. She’d kept it anyway, saying ‘thank you’ with that shy smile that concealed her immense power. Tony never quite warmed to her (and she’d returned the distrust), but he can see why the rest of the team did.

Nat’s room is sparse, the way it was before she left. Only a few clothes hang in the closet, and there’s nothing that could be considered a personal effect on display.

Both Steve and Sam had split their time between the compound and what they considered to be their real homes, and both of their rooms are military clean, except for Steve’s drawings on his walls and Sam’s scattered record collection.

All of the Avengers had been offered a place here, yet after the Accords no one had been left except for the skeletal remains of the team, minus the boy-genius spider-kid, who couldn’t exactly leave Queens, and who wasn’t exactly an Avenger to start with. Maria’s mentioned new recruits, but Tony’s not sure where to start. He found Peter on YouTube, but there are only so many genuine recordings of budding ‘superheroes’ online. He’s heard of some New York-based heroes, though none of them seem like a natural fit for the Avengers. They’re a team meant for global emergencies, not for fighting crimes in the boroughs. He does a bit of preliminary research into the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, although it’s clear the man would prefer to operate below the radar. He goes so far as to call Alias Investigations, but when Jones doesn’t pick up by the fourth ring he hangs up. She doesn’t call back, possibly on account of his blocked caller ID.

He knows SHIELD have tried to get in contact with Wakanda, with limited success. Tony can’t blame T’Challa for wanting no part of the outside world, but he could really use an ally right now. Preferably one who’s both a legal adult and who’s physically and mentally capable of using their powers. He doesn’t think that’s too much of an ask, but even Banner and Thor are nowhere to be found, for all that Tony’s tried his best to figure out a way to reach them.

‘We could do Avengers tryouts,’ he says wryly, when Helen comes down to the workshop with leftover pizza.

She grins at him. ‘What would my name be, if I was a superhero? Iron Man, War Machine, Spider-Man, and...Science Lady.’

‘You should probably work on that one.’

‘Hey, we never found out if I could wield Mjolnir. Maybe I’m destined to be the next Thor.’

‘Lady Thor?’

‘Nope, just Thor. I could totally pull it off,’ she smiles, picking the pepperoni off her slice of pizza. ‘Maria emailed to say they’re thinking of approaching Hope van Dyne.’

‘Janet van Dyne’s daughter? Why?’

Tony had never had the opportunity to meet Janet—she’d died the year after he graduated from MIT—but he’d heard a lot about her and her husband from his father, who got on with neither, though he’d respected Janet far more than Hank. The feeling had been mutual, apparently, considering Hank’s apparent epithet that one should _never trust a Stark_.

‘She’s not close to her father, but she has a suit,’ Helen says. ‘We think it’s her mother’s, although it’s been noticeably upgraded. The point is, Maria thinks she’d make a great Avenger.’

‘If her dad lets her.’

‘Something tells me any woman going by _The Wasp_ knows better than to do whatever the men in her life tell her.’

‘Point taken. If only we could collect the full set of insect-based superheroes, that’d be a real treat.’

Helen tilts her head towards the newest Spider-Man suit laid out across a desk. ‘Two out of four isn’t bad.’ She runs her fingers over the fabric, which is stronger than it appears at first glance. ‘You don’t have to keep making improvements to his suit, you know. I’ve seen it in action—you’ve done a good job.’

Mark I had been too hasty, thrown together with the assumption that the kid wouldn’t have to do much beyond looking impressive and staying on the sidelines. And then it had gone wrong—escalated—and the kid had been put in danger. Everything that happened with that battle, he can’t say it’s what he feels most guilty about. But it sure is up there. He’s designed countless suits since then, only got around to actually building four of them.

‘I need to keep him safe,’ he says.

~

He doesn’t get around to seeing Peter very often, which is mostly his own fault. It’s just that he’s not sure what he’s meant to be to the kid, whether he’s better as the responsible mentor or cool adult friend, and either role stresses him out. He remembers how shitty he was with Harley, taking out his own issues on the boy and snapping at him more than he deserved. (Although he has checked in on the Keener family since then, and they’re doing well. Harley’s top of his class and his sister’s grown out of her Dora phase, apparently showing her own interest in science. He’d received a letter from Harley, almost a year ago, where he’d written that he didn’t believe what people were saying about the Sokovia Incident—that it was Tony’s fault. _I know you’d never do anything to hurt anyone_ , he’d written, with childish certainty. Then, on the next line, as an afterthought, _Unless they deserved it._ Tony didn’t write back.)

Peter’s different. For one thing, he’s older than Harley; for another, he’s a superhero. Or he’s trying to be. His enthusiasm for helping people is almost overwhelming, the way he’s determined to do good in whatever way he can. His complaints are only that he can’t do more, which Tony understands. His first act as Iron Man had been to fly across the world and kill terrorists. He can’t, in good conscience, allow Peter to do the same.

‘But I can really be _useful_ ,’ Peter keeps saying, and texting, and Tony knows that eventually he will be, whether Tony likes it or not. He wonders if this is how parenting feels.

~

‘People are unsure about this…Spider-Man,’ Maria says over the phone. She is, apparently, the one who supervises whatever’s going on with the Avengers now. ‘He hasn’t revealed his identity to the public…’

‘And he shouldn’t have to,’ Tony says, quickly.

‘Not yet, but it’s being considered. If the Registration Act gets revised in the future, open identities may be an issue that comes up. You should be prepared for that.’

‘He’s not—he’s a minor, you can’t—’

Maria sighs. ‘I can’t do anything. It’s the government who are in control here, and it’s our job to uphold to law. That’s not to say you can’t oppose such measures if they’re introduced.’

‘But you wouldn’t recommend it.’

‘No.’

Tony wants to put on the suit’s gauntlet and crush the phone in his palm. It’s getting harder and harder to act professional, these days. But he was taught to be a businessman before he was taught to walk, so instead he says, ‘I understand,’ and hopes his tone transmits every ounce of his displeasure. ‘Listen, if it comes to that—I won’t let them do anything to Peter. I brought him into this, he’s my responsibility.’

‘While I admire your loyalty, Stark, this may be something that it’s not within your power to change.’

‘Bullshit,’ he snaps. ‘There’ll be a loophole, there always is.’

‘It’s not even on the table yet.’

‘What can I say, I’m a futurist,’ and his tone is far more bitter than it once was, conveying the same sentiment. ‘I have to look ahead, otherwise I’ll be blindsided. And it’ll be worse for Peter.’

‘Fine. But I still need you to look over the potential candidates I sent you.’

‘I did,’ he says. ‘A lot of them are…young.’

‘It depends on what public perception ends up being on super-powered individuals below the age of eighteen,’ Maria responds, words sounding suspiciously rehearsed. ‘We could get them started on some kind of training programme to assure people that they’ll be fully in control of their powers by the time we send them out in the field.’

‘The Avengers Apprenticeships?’ Tony laughs.

‘Just give it some thought. We need to present a united front.’

Tony hangs up on her with savage satisfaction. Even though it isn’t her fault, he needs someone to be angry with. Someone he doesn’t have to look at in the mirror every day, preferably. And he’s worn out being mad at Steve.

~

Tony stares down at the files detailing the lives and powers of teenagers who don’t even know they’re being surveilled. He wants to look away, to close the files and pretend they never existed—to sit back and let the Avengers die. But the truth is that the world needs to be kept safe, and much as he tries he can’t think of an alternative. Ultron had been the alternative, the way to keep people safe without having to put super-powered beings in danger. And it had failed, had caused more damage than he could’ve ever anticipated. It’s hard to navigate what’s right and wrong, he thinks, when _everything_ feels wrong. Forget morally grey, all he can see is black.

‘What are we fighting for if not to protect kids like these?’ he asks, even though he’s alone, locked in his workshop at three am. ‘Fuck.’

‘Sometimes sacrifices must be made for the greater good,’ FRIDAY says.

‘That’s not—this girl, Kamala Khan. She’s not even in high school yet. But she’d say yes if SHIELD asked her to join whatever half-cocked training programme they’re dreaming up. She writes fanfiction about Captain America and the Falcon, for god’s sake. It’d all be an exciting adventure for her. And then she’d get hurt.’ He rubs a hand over his face. ‘It’d be SHIELD’s fault. And mine, for letting it happen.’

‘If SHIELD offers training,’ FRIDAY offers, ‘then she’ll be safer with them. You know that.’

It’s not the first time he’s had a debate with his AI, though he remembers verbally sparring with JARVIS more fondly. That’s not FRIDAY’s fault; he’s a creature of habit at heart. Besides, things had been simpler when JARVIS was still around. Most of the time, their arguments hadn’t been life or death. Not until he became Iron Man, anyway.

‘You’re right,’ he tells her. ‘But SHIELD wants to use them as weapons. That’s what the Avengers are to them: their own private little army, which they can send out to kill or capture whomever they choose. With government approval, they get to make it legitimate.’

‘SHIELD aren’t the enemy.’

‘I know that,’ he says, ‘but I don’t particularly want to be their friend, either.’

FRIDAY’s silent at that, doesn’t disturb him until half an hour later, when he’s still poring over the information about Miles Morales. ‘You should eat, sir,’ she says. ‘I’ve been monitoring your—’

‘Thank you,’ he says, cutting her off. ‘Give me a minute.’

The blue lights of the holographic files are starting to imprint on his vision when he blinks. His fingers twitch against his legs, an involuntary muscle spasm. There’s a can of Red Bull, half-finished, next to him, even though he hates the taste. He can feel his AI’s disapproval like a physical thing, and it makes him want to laugh, because he should probably quit programming them with the capacity to disapprove of him.

‘Fine,’ he says, and stands up. His legs feel alarmingly unstable, but that’s just because he hasn’t moved in five hours. Probably.

When he gets to the kitchen, Pepper is there. ‘Um,’ he says.

‘I’m not a hallucination.’

‘Never said you were,’ he says, though he’d been wondering. ‘Why are you here? Why not during the day, like when people normally visit their exes?’

‘I’m not here to torture you, Tony,’ she says. ‘Would you like a drink?’

‘It’s my kitchen,’ he responds mutinously. Helps himself to the strawberries in the fridge, just because.

She rolls her eyes. ‘FRIDAY told me you were awake,’ she says, ignoring him when he mutters _traitor_ under his breath, ‘and I had something I needed to discuss with you. I’ve been meaning to for a while, actually.’

‘I don’t have the energy to round up all your stuff right now, Pep, I really don’t.’

There can’t be any other reason for her to be here, he thinks. Unless she needs him to sign something. Though the occasions when his authorisation is needed for what goes on at Stark Industries are few and far between, these days.

‘It’s not that.’ She takes a deep breath, seems to steel herself. ‘I’m considering joining the Avengers.’

‘What.’

‘I’m not kidding, Tony. I’ve given this a lot of thought and—’

‘You don’t—I mean, we got rid of the Extremis, right? It’s not still hanging around in there because. That would be. Maybe bad’s the wrong word? It wouldn’t be good; it’s not really proven to be a great source of superpowers if we’re really honest here…’

‘It’s not Extremis,’ Pepper says. ‘They want you to build me a suit.’

‘No.’

‘Tony, if this is because we broke up, I have to say—’

‘Of course it’s not because we _broke up_ ,’ Tony hisses. ‘It’s because you—I can’t let you…’

‘Make my own decisions?’ Pepper arches an eyebrow, and that isn’t it, of course that isn’t it. ‘This isn’t your choice to make, Tony. Well, it’s your choice whether or not to build the suit, but with or without your approval I’m going to get involved in this because I can’t sit on the side-lines anymore while you fly into wormholes and…’ She cuts herself off because Tony’s face has gone predictably tight with the mention of New York. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to… Look, when Maria approached me about this I had the same reaction as you: disbelief. But she believes I can do this— _I_ believe I can do this, given the right amount of training. Besides, they’ll just give me Sam’s wings if you don’t build the suit; it’s happening whether you want it to or not.’

Tony sits down heavily. ‘Pep…you can’t honestly expect me to be okay with this. Rhodey’s got years of military training under his belt and he got _shot out of the sky_ a handful of months ago—it’s not _safe_.’

‘I’d bet my net worth that you’ve made improvements to the suits since Rhodey got hurt,’ Pepper responds. ‘And all you’re saying is that it’s okay when _you_ do it, but as soon as anyone else wants to lend a hand…’

‘It’s not _anyone else_ , it’s _you_!’

His voice carries enough that within a couple of seconds Vision is phasing into the room, concern written across his features. Tony sees the light come on from down the hall: Rhodey’s room.

‘Is everything all right, Mr Stark? Ms Potts?’ Vision asks, and Tony runs a hand over his face.

‘Of course it is, Vision. I just started yelling for no reason.’

‘I detect sarcasm in your tone.’

‘You detected right. Sorry.’

Rhodey’s limping slightly when he enters the kitchen, which is a sure sign he’s overexerting himself. Tony itches to help, knows it won’t be received well. He gravitates towards Tony’s side anyway, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder. ‘What’s going on?’ he asks, voice strained. He hasn’t changed out of his sleep clothes, which amount to a pair of sweatpants and nothing else. Tony is momentarily distracted by how much skin is on display, but he shakes himself out of it. It’s probably all the Red Bull, making him jittery.

‘Pepper wants to be War Machine 2.0,’ he says.

‘Actually, I was thinking of being called Rescue,’ Pepper says. ‘And it’s not like that at all. Fury and Hill are looking for new recruits for the Avengers and my name came up. I have a public presence; I’ve done a good enough job with Stark Industries that the public trusts—even if they don’t particularly _like_ —me. If Maria thinks I’ve got the potential to do this, I’m willing to try.’

‘Since when is she _Maria_?’ Tony asks, choosing to focus on the detail that matters least.

Pepper rolls her eyes.

‘Can I just… I need some time to think,’ Tony says, softer this time. It’s hard to keep the anger in his voice when he feels so drained of the willingness to fight. He feels abruptly exhausted, all memory of what had kept him up some long in the first place gone. All he wants is to sleep, until all thoughts of government proposals and ex-teammates are gone from his mind.

Rhodey’s hand migrates to a reassuring grip on his wrist, thumb rubbing circles against the blue of Tony’s veins. ‘Look,’ he says, ‘we’ll give this our utmost consideration. But, Pep—and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way—you need to leave. And if you want to visit again, you should come during the day, and call first. What you did, it was unfair.’

She nods easily. ‘I know,’ she says. ‘Sorry, Tony.’

It’s Rhodey who shows her to the door, with what Tony presumes are a few quiet words about how fragile his mental state is right now, a moment of shared understanding about how hard it is to deal with him.

He heads over to the couch, ignores Vision’s expression of robotic concern and closes his eyes until he feels the hesitant hand against his shoulder that indicates Rhodey’s return.

‘You okay?’

‘Always,’ Tony says, out of reflex. Rhodey’s disbelieving snort is comforting, as is the way he sits down close enough that his body’s a warm press against the side of Tony’s. Tony allows himself to sink into the reassuring solidity for a few more moments, his eyelids heavy. ‘Sorry I woke you,’ he mumbles against Rhodey’s shoulder.

‘No problem. And…we don’t have to talk about it right now.’ Which isn’t as good as never talking about it, but it will have to do.

~

The kicker is that the break-up actually _had_ been amicable, for the most part. It had been Pepper who’d instigated it, but Tony had agreed with her, had smiled tiredly and admitted that they really needed to stop trying to make something work when it was clearly too much for them.

‘I still love you,’ Pepper said, with those kind, searching eyes.

He smiled, the feeling of it sticky and wrong. ‘You too.’ His voice didn’t break, though it felt like everything else was.

‘Maybe…maybe one day—’

‘Don’t do that,’ he said. ‘Don’t give me false hope.’

‘You won’t lose me. I still run your company. I’m still your friend, Tony. Just because this didn’t work out, it doesn’t mean we have to be strangers, or even pretend this didn’t happen.’

His smile dropped. ‘Give me time,’ he said. ‘I can’t—not right now. It doesn’t feel like we can be friends.’

That hurt her, he could tell. But she said, ‘I thought you might say that,’ and reached out to touch his cheek. ‘I guess this is goodbye, then, for a while. I’ll miss you.’

She’d kissed him for the final time, gently, and then she’d left.


	6. can never leave the past behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flashback episode !!!
> 
> content warning for this chapter: alcoholism

_September 2007_

‘So when do I get to meet her?’ Tony asks, grinning. He’s allowed to be excited: this is Rhodey’s first serious girlfriend…well, _ever_ and Tony _has_ to meet the girl who’s rescued his best friend from perpetual singleness. While it sucks to lose a wingman, Rhodey’s always been a secret romantic. Tony knows this because he cries every time he watches _Titanic_ , and not even at the parts with the old people or the kids. No, he cries when Rose says _I’ll never let go, Jack_ , because he is exactly that big of a sap. Tony loves him a lot.

Rhodey chews, thoughtfully, on one of his fries. ‘How about never,’ he suggests.

‘Shut up,’ Tony says, eyes wide and mock offended. ‘I am your _best friend_. I’m meeting her. Next question.’

And Rhodey shakes his head, but he’s smiling so Tony knows he’s won. ‘Seriously, dude, why do you even want to meet her? It’s not, like, a _rule_ that you’ve gotta meet everyone I date for more than a month.’

Tony gasps. ‘It’s been over a _month_ and I haven’t met her yet? Why are you hiding this chick from me? Is she smarter than me? Because you know I’ll never forgive you if you date someone smarter than me. The damage to my ego would be irreparable.’

‘You could use some damage to your ego,’ Rhodey mutters. A beat, before: ‘Sorry, that was. I know you’re not—I’m just stressed out, man.’

‘It’s fine, I’m used to it. Anyway, I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, daffodil. I’m genuinely happy for you. You deserve this, after…’ He stops, abruptly uncertain.

‘You can say his name. It’s fine; I’m in the Air Force, people die.’

‘Doesn’t mean it gets easier.’

They’d attended the funeral a couple of months ago, and Rhodey had managed to hold it together throughout the service, only breaking down later when it was only him and Tony, crying onto Tony’s shoulder and apologizing between sobs. Tony hadn’t known whether he was apologizing to him or to the soldier he’d lost, Major Sasaki.

Now, Rhodey shrugs, the lines of his mouth tight. Tony wonders if he feels embarrassed about that night; he hopes not. Obviously he’s not glad that the man died, but it was the first time Rhodey had allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of Tony for what seems like years. He’s sick of seeing the permanent brave face.

It’s not a surprise when Rhodey changes the subject.

‘Tessa—you’ll like her. You’ve got a similar sense of humor.’

‘Right,’ Tony says. ‘So you’ve gotta tell me everything. Where did you meet, where did you go on your first date, has she met Mama Rhodes, what does she do—you know, the whole story.’

Rhodey sighs, like it’s a hardship. ‘We met last year, back when she was working for Stark Industries. And we started dating five months ago, when she handed in her notice. She nearly took a job with Hammer Industries—’ Tony groans. ‘—but I talked her out of it. She’s sort of freelance right now.’

‘Doing what, exactly? Designing weapons?’

‘Consulting. On safety, mostly.’

‘So the boring part,’ Tony grins.

‘That right there is probably why she stopped working for you.’

Tony waves a hand. ‘No, it wasn’t. She stopped because she _liked_ you, and you thought dating someone who worked for me was a conflict of interest. Since you’re _liaison_ to Stark Industries and all.’

‘Why do you keep saying that like it’s a bad word?’

‘Makes us seem like, you know, business associates. Ugh.’

‘Anyway, she’s—y’know. Nice.’

‘Nice,’ Tony repeats dubiously. ‘Cupcake, you deserve better than _nice_.’

‘Stop—’ Rhodey starts, but then he’s cutting himself off with a bite of his burger, not looking Tony in the eyes.

‘I promise I won’t be a dick to her,’ Tony says. If that’s what Rhodey’s worried about—well, he can understand it, though he can’t think of what he’s done to make Rhodey think he doesn’t at least _try_ to be a supportive friend whenever he can. ‘I’m just trying to make sure she’s the best, because _you’re_ the best, also. God, stop me, I’m getting mushy.’

‘I don’t think you’ll be a dick.’ Rhodey pauses. ‘No more than usual, anyway.’

‘I’ll be a perfect gentleman.’

‘Right. I guess you’ll meet her at Thanksgiving, if you’re still coming,’ Rhodey says.

‘What _does_ Mama Rhodes think of this Tessa? If she’s good enough for your mom, _then_ she’s good enough for me.’

Rhodey buries his face in his hands. ‘ _Neither_ of you have met her yet, because you’re both as bad as each other and I didn’t want to scare her off by letting either of you anywhere near her.’

‘You know I’ll be mentioning this slander to Mama Rhodes when I phone her later.’

‘God, don’t I know it,’ Rhodey groans.

Tony glances around at the other customers in the crappy twenty-four-hour diner. There aren’t many, since it’s nearing on midnight: he and Rhodey haven’t had a regular sleeping schedule since 1998, and they’re not about to start now. But the couple in the corner are clearly debating whether or not to ask him for his autograph, and he’s hoping that they decide not to. There’s nothing like his quality time with Rhodey being interrupted by well-meaning fans.

They’re sharing a milkshake, which is one of those stupid traditions they haven’t grown out of yet. They always have the same argument over whether to get vanilla or chocolate, but neither of them has suggested getting one each since the first time, all those years ago.

It’s nice. Tony misses Rhodey nine months out of the year, and even when Rhodey’s home he sees him less often than he’d like.

‘You might…you’ll have to get a hotel room if you want to stay for the Thanksgiving weekend,’ Rhodey mutters. ‘Because Tessa’s gonna get the spare room.’

Tony doesn’t expect himself to feel hurt by this. It’s stupid: he could afford to buy out an entire luxury hotel in the area near Rhodey’s childhood home, and rationally speaking it makes sense that Rhodey’s girlfriend—who, presumably, is not a billionaire—would get to stay in the house, rather than him. Still. It’s one of those things that feels routine, Tony saying he’ll get a hotel room and Mama Rhodes snapping _that’s nonsense, Anthony, of course you’re staying here_. He pastes a smile over the irrational hurt, says, ‘Oh, right, of course.’

‘Sorry,’ Rhodey says, which softens the blow a little bit.

‘Nothing to be sorry for, pumpkin,’ Tony grins, stealing one of Rhodey’s fries. It’s fine; Rhodey never finishes them, for all he tries to make them inedible to anyone else by drenching them in ketchup. ‘I’ll miss your mom’s world-famous pancakes, though. God, the things she does with syrup.’

Rhodey’s laugh is close to being Tony’s favourite thing in the world—the way his eyes crinkle at the corners and he throws his head back, unselfconscious. He shakes his head, nudging Tony’s foot under the table. ‘She sure is gonna miss how much you love them,’ he says. ‘How’s it feel, being the favourite child?’

Tony says, ‘New,’ before he thinks about how it sounds.

He lets Rhodey look sympathetic for a couple of seconds before he says, ‘No, I’m not going for pity here, it was a joke, whatever.’ He always blurs his words together when he’s talking about his dad, stumbles a little. Rhodey raises his eyebrows and slots their feet together fully, comforting as he’s able to be when they’re in public. They’re not a couple, but they both know how it will look if Rhodey suddenly takes his hand. Tony’s sure that Rhodey’s just as conscious as he is of their lack of privacy.

‘Wanna get cheesecake?’ Rhodey asks, instead of expounding the issue.

‘When has the answer to that question ever been no?’

~

Tony brings a thousand-dollar bottle of wine to Thanksgiving dinner and Mama Rhodes scoffs, rolls her eyes at him and wraps him in a hug so tight he can barely breathe for a moment. All of this is customary.

He’s a little late because he’d lost track of time at a meeting, but she insists that it’s fine, leads him through to the sitting room. Everyone else is there already, the woman who must be Tessa curled up against Rhodey’s side. And it’s childish, but Tony’s momentarily jealous, thinking about how long it’s been since he’s had anyone he can be with like that—the kind of non-sexual closeness that he can’t find in the arms of supermodels or movie stars. He rolls his eyes inwardly, reminds himself to be happy that Rhodey’s happy. Then he takes a moment to wonder if he’s imagining the way Rhodey had stiffened slightly at the sight of him (takes a moment to wonder if Rhodey even wants him here, when he’s introducing his girlfriend to the family).

Shaking himself out of it, Tony takes a moment to appreciate the familiarity of the room, unchanged since Rhodey’s dad’s death almost eight years ago. The Rhodes’ sitting room is almost too cosy for its own good, with its fluffy carpet and soft red couches, the fireplace to top it all off. It looks like a sitting room from the front of a Christmas card, right down to the happy family occupying it.

Tony takes a seat on the armchair across from Jeanette, Rhodey’s sister, and her daughter Lila, who’s just about to turn nine. Lila’s always been the only young child he can stand to be around, and now that she’s getting older and the word _prodigy_ is getting thrown around, he feels as proud as a blood relative might. ‘Hey, Lila,’ he says, and grins at the way her face lights up when she sees him. ‘Got you a present.’

‘It’s not my birthday for five and a half weeks,’ she says.

‘Might not see you then, caterpillar.’

She wrinkles her nose at the familiar nickname, and it’s so similar to Rhodey’s disgruntled reaction to some of the more indulgent pet names Tony gives him that he almost laughs. It’s her own fault: she shouldn’t have loved _The Very Hungry Caterpillar_ so much if she didn’t want the name to stick.

‘Fine. What is it?’

‘It’s outside,’ he says. ‘We can go take a look after dinner.’

‘I swear to god, Tony, if you’ve got my daughter a—a car, or a missile, I will personally make sure you’re never allowed near her again,’ Jeanette says good-naturedly.

Tony holds up his hands in surrender. ‘I would never,’ and, dropping his voice to a stage whisper: ‘You only get a car when you’re fifteen, Lila, and not a day before.’

Jeanette raises her eyes skyward. ‘Why do I allow you to corrupt my child?’ she asks, which means she hasn’t forgiven him for the whole f-word debacle.

‘It’s my rugged good looks,’ he suggests, ‘you just can’t resist them.’

Jeanette throws a sofa cushion at his face, which is fair. Her aim is terrifyingly good, though, which isn’t.

‘Ow.’

‘You deserve it,’ Rhodey says.

‘You’re meant to be on my side,’ Tony whines. ‘Lovely to meet you, Tessa, by the way. I’m Tony Stark, you may have heard of me.’

‘Nice to finally meet you in the flesh, Mr Stark,’ she says, visibly struggling not to laugh. ‘You’re shorter in person.’

‘That’s the beauty of low-angle shots,’ he responds. ‘And don’t call me Mr Stark, it makes me sound like my father. Tony’ll do.’

She’s beautiful in an unassuming kind of way, and her smile is infectious. Tony likes her instantly, right down to the way she’s wearing socks that say ‘TUESDAY’ on the soles even though it’s Thursday. He likes her even though she’s wearing what appears to be a Christmas sweater in November, which is a feat few can pull off. Tony has a strict policy on Christmas sweaters, which is that they are just barely acceptable during the month of December and are completely unacceptable on literally every other date.

‘Alright, Tony,’ she says, ‘have you got any embarrassing stories about Rhodey?’

Tony rubs his hands together, leaning forward. ‘How much time you got?’

~

As it turns out, a large proportion of Tony’s repertoire of Embarrassing Rhodey Stories are not rated PG, so Lila’s presence complicates things. It’s fine, because Mama Rhodes swoops in from the kitchen at regular intervals to bring out photo albums, to Rhodey’s increasing chagrin. Rhodey was an ugly baby and a cute child, and even though Tony’s seen all the pictures a hundred times before, Tessa’s reactions are a sight to see. She coos appropriately, but also isn’t afraid to make fun of the polaroids of four-year-old Rhodey running naked across a beach, ice cream cone held aloft.

‘Yeah, those are Tony’s favorites, too,’ Rhodey mutters, as Tessa snorts into his shoulder.

‘Oh?’ Tessa says, arching an eyebrow in Tony’s direction. ‘You’ve got taste, Stark.’

‘In baby photos? Yeah, it’s one of my skills.’

When they get to the teenage years (the photos where Tony starts making sporadic appearances with his fluffy hair and bad skin) he goes to help Mama Rhodes in the kitchen, leaving to the sounds of Rhodey and Tessa’s private giggles.

‘What can I do to help?’ he asks, which makes Roberta laugh.

‘Tony, honey, you’re a useless cook. Just help yourself to a drink, tell me how you’ve been.’

She’s wearing a bright pink flowery apron and Tony is absolutely terrified of her, always, so he obeys. He does jump up and sit on the counter, though, just because he knows it’ll make her tut and roll her eyes.

‘You know me,’ Tony says, swinging his legs, ‘I’ve been fine.’

‘Tell that to someone who believes you. I’ve seen the news, I know you’re working too hard.’

Tony scoffs. ‘If you’ve seen the news, you’ve seen all the partying. I’d hardly call that hard work.’

The thing is, though: Mama Rhodes has an even lower tolerance for his bullshit than Rhodey does. ‘You can pretend all you like for the tabloids, honey, but once you start bringing that nonsense into my house…’ She sighs. ‘When was the last time you took a break from all that schmoozing and posturing?’

‘It’s not exactly a hardship.’ Even though sometimes he feels like his face is splitting apart in a cascade of false smiles and meaningless small talk. It’s not the sort of thing you’re meant to complain about. Usually, he doesn’t.

‘Mm,’ Mama Rhodes says, clearly disapproving.

He makes the executive decision to change the topic of conversation. ‘So, what do you think of Tessa?’ he says, spitting in the face of subtlety.

Mama Rhodes allows it, says, ‘She seems like a very nice girl,’ which from Roberta is pretty damning. Then again, it’s only been a few hours, so maybe she’s just reserving her judgement.

‘That bad, huh?’ he says.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Mama Rhodes replies, but the corner of her mouth twitches up.

‘Well, _I_ think she’s great.’

‘I’m sure she is.’

‘…Just not for Rhodey?’ Tony suggests, trying to parse Mama Rhodes’ opinion.

She gives him a searching look before turning her attention back to the oven, fiddling with the dials. ‘It may be too early to tell,’ she says eventually. ‘Maybe I just always pictured him with someone else.’

Tony takes a moment to think about who he’d expected Rhodey to end up with, but it’s only a second before he realises he’s never given it much thought. Sure, he’s wanted Rhodey to get a girlfriend for years, but he hadn’t considered the kind of girl he’d choose when he did. It seems like an oversight, now; if he had an idea, maybe he’d understand what Mama Rhodes means.

‘Poor girl, having to live up to your expectations. Wait, did you want him to get with, like, Lucy Liu, because I know he’s had a crush on her since _Charlie’s Angels_ and technically I _could_ set them up,’ he says, which earns him a light slap on the arm. ‘Ow. You know, maybe I should stop coming here if all it gets me is gratuitous violence.’

‘You are an idiot, Tony Stark,’ she says.

‘So people keep telling me.’

‘You’re a genius,’ she says, ‘but you are _such_ an _idiot_.’

‘Sorry?’ he says. ‘What did I do this time?’

She shakes her head. ‘I do not want you to set my son up with a movie star under any circumstances, you ridiculous man.’

And Tony still can’t help but feel like there’s something he’s missing.

~

Thanksgiving dinner is as lively as ever, with Roberta laying out a veritable feast (no thanks to Tony, although he had laid the table in an attempt to demonstrate usefulness). They say grace, which is something that Tony has only ever experienced at the Rhodes’, and then there are three conversations going on at once, Tony easily sinking into one with Lila while keeping one ear focused on Mama Rhodes’ polite interrogation of Tessa.

The table’s large and circular, piled high with food, and Tony’s across from the happy couple. He’s trying not to stare at the easy intimacy between the two, the way Tessa’s tracing a finger over the back of Rhodey’s hand while he chats to Jeanette. They do make a cute couple, he thinks, and it gives him a strange feeling to consider their future together: how they’ll probably make each other happy and do all the normal things that couples do together, though god knows Tony has no idea what half of those things are. Sharply, he tells himself that they’ve only been going out for six months and that it’s ridiculous for him to be worrying—because that’s what he’s doing, _selfish_ —about them spending the rest of their lives together. He listens to Lila complaining about how her mum won’t let her have a Bunsen burner instead.

Tony’s been coming to Thanksgiving here since the year after his parents’ death. His dad had never been big on holidays even when he was alive (sometimes not even bothering to come home from the New York office or whichever country he was selling Stark tech in) but the thought of spending the day alone in ‘92 had been sickening all the same. Even so, he’d rejected Obie’s half-hearted invitation, knowing instinctively that he would be unwelcome. He would’ve said no to Rhodey, too, if not for the earnest way Rhodey had insisted that Mrs Rhodes (and she’d been Mrs Rhodes, back then, before she’d started treating Tony like a son) would kill him if Tony didn’t join them. Mama Rhodes repeatedly and vehemently disputes this: the past few years haven’t been complete without her claiming the whole thing was actually Rhodey’s idea, saying _god knows why he didn’t want you to know that he cares, Anthony_ , while Rhodey shakes his head and mutters curses into his mashed potatoes.

The argument isn’t rehashed this year; most of the conversation focuses on Tessa, understandably. Mama Rhodes makes sure to learn practically every aspect of the woman’s life story, questions ranging from what her parents do for a living to what Tessa’s future plans are, and whether she wants kids. Rhodey groans at the latter, covering his face with his hands. ‘ _Mom_ …’ he says, sounding every bit the embarrassed teenager. Tony stifles a giggle, ignores Rhodey flipping him the bird.

‘It’s alright,’ Tessa shrugs. ‘I’ve never really thought about having children, although obviously I have no idea what the future may hold.’

She smiles at Rhodey, whose expression is still uncomfortable. He’s always been great with kids once they get past a certain age, but Tony can’t help but remember when Lila was a baby—it’s the only time Tony thinks he’s seen true _fear_ in Rhodey’s eyes.

But of course he and Tessa haven’t spoken about that yet, and Tony has to wonder why Mama Rhodes brought it up, if not to make things awkward. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat for a moment.

‘Tessa,’ he says, ‘I need your opinion on something.’

She stills, giving him a questioning look complete with one eyebrow raised.

He grins. ‘Is Rhodey’s shirt and tie combo the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen, or is it the _ugliest_ thing you’ve ever seen?’

‘Oh, shut up, man,’ Rhodey says, flicking a piece of stuffing in Tony’s direction.

‘Words cannot do it justice,’ Tessa agrees, managing to keep a straight face. Tony’s impressed, as well as validated.

‘So now that that’s decided,’ Tony says, ‘I’m getting you a decent suit for Christmas, snowdrop.’

‘Snowdrop?’ Tessa asks.

‘Sure. Snowdrop, candy cane, snuggle bunny, stud muffin. Rhodey’s the man who inspired a thousand terrible pet-names, though I’m still waiting for him to call me one back.’ He flutters his eyelashes ridiculously. ‘Please, treacle. Just once?’

‘Huh,’ Tessa says, ‘I might have to get in on that.’

Tony feels an irrational stab of possessiveness (over _pet-names_ , really, that’s a low point) but he smothers it before it shows. ‘You should,’ he says. ‘It’s great fun.’

Rhodey snorts. ‘For _you_ , maybe.’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t love it,’ Tony responds, and tells himself that Rhodey’s answering eye-roll is fond.

~

‘Okay, kid,’ Tony says, hands on Lila’s shoulders, ‘you have to promise to take care of it and show me what you make.’

He holds out his pinky, and Lila takes it.

‘I promise.’

Tony turns to his car and pulls out the (large but rather unimpressive-looking) box, presenting it to the girl with a flourish. She looks at it dubiously.

‘What is it?’

Tony grins. ‘It’s a robot making kit. You’ll find everything you need in here to make your very own DUM-E. Or something better. In fact, _please_ make something better, I’m begging you.’ Lila’s been enamoured with DUM-E and U ever since Tony showed her videos of them doing stupid shit years ago. She asks for regular updates on them, as though they’re a couple of cute dogs rather than non-sentient machinery.

Lila’s eyes are huge and her mouth is gaping open. After a few seconds, she darts forward and flings her arms around Tony’s middle, head only just up to his chest. He pats her gently on her hair and tries not to let his smile go soft and mushy the way he wants to—there are other people watching and he’s got a reputation to uphold, dammit. ‘Thank you, Tony,’ Lila’s murmuring into his shirt, and he can’t resist lifting her feet off the ground, spinning her around so she giggles delightedly.

‘You’re welcome, caterpillar,’ he says.

~

He tosses and turns in the too-big King-sized hotel bed later that night, a little bit drunk on what had been in the mini-bar. He’s got that itch to create something again, the one that’s rearing its head more and more often these days. It’s not like the feeling he’d had when he built stuff as a kid, that wide-eyed wonder that came from creating designs for technology that would save people; it’s far uglier than that. It feels like blueprints for deadlier and deadlier weapons are swirling around in his head, like his father planted them there himself. Every time he commits one of them to paper and then to construction, he can feel Howard’s approval, sometimes even sees it in Obie’s face.

And every time, he feels like shit all the same.

~

By the time Christmas rolls around, Rhodey is single again. Tony doesn’t ask why, doesn’t even find out until weeks after the fact. He tries to get Rhodey drunk, ends up getting drunk himself and forgets to check if Rhodey is too. He slurs that he loves him and when he wakes up the next morning he can’t remember Rhodey’s response.

It’s not something to fixate on. Rhodey’s never been one of those stoic, hyper-masculine army types who refuse to express anything even approaching affection; he’s told Tony he loves him more times than Tony can count and Tony knows that even if he’s made a dick of himself again, Rhodey loves him. But he’s making a dick of himself more often, he knows, partying more and getting sloppy drunk, taking strangers home and struggling to feel a damn thing. And he knows that Rhodey gets tired of it, disapproves and struggles not to mention that stinging disapproval. Tony can see it on the tip of his tongue whenever they meet up, intensifying when Tony pours himself a drink no matter what the time of day.

It’s far from the worst Tony’s ever been, but that’s hardly a defence.

Tony invites Rhodey to his New Year’s party and Rhodey turns up near midnight, takes one look at the state Tony’s in and pulls him forcibly outside, so the cold air washes over his face and he can see the stars, spinning through the dark sky.

‘Are they meant to be spinning?’ he asks.

‘No, Tones.’

Rhodey sounds tired, so Tony reaches out to touch his face, runs the pad of his thumb over Rhodey’s cheekbone. ‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Y’alright?’

‘I…’ Rhodey laughs, bitter. ‘I should be asking you the same.’

‘Nah,’ Tony says, and realises his hand’s still against Rhodey’s skin, pulls it back with something that, if he has to identify it, might be best described as reluctance. ‘It’s—if I feel bad then that’s like, whatever, but if _you’re_ sad, then. We gotta sort that out.’

‘I’d rather you were sober first.’

‘Sorry.’

‘No, it’s…’ Rhodey’s voice is drowned out by the thumping of the music issuing from inside and his face is glowing in the rotating, vibrant colors pulsing through the glass. ‘I’m guessing there isn’t somewhere more private we can go.’

Tony shrugs. ‘My bedroom’s on lock, if Jarvis’ doing his job.’

There’s indecision flitting across Rhodey’s face before he says, ‘Fine,’ like Tony’s suggestion is the lesser of two evils. He grabs Tony’s elbow to stop him stumbling and manages to navigate them both through the body of the party, outright ignoring the guests who try to latch onto them.

When they get to Tony’s room, Rhodey methodically shoves him down on the bed, takes off his shoes and goes through to the en suite to get him a glass of water. Tony sighs up at the ceiling.

‘You’re being unusually acquiescent,’ Rhodey comments.

‘You always use big words when I’m drunk.’

‘You still know what it means, asshole.’

Tony struggles into a sitting position, feeling moments away from sleep. ‘Not trying to be an asshole,’ he says. ‘Sorry.’

Rhodey hands him the glass of water, sits next to him up against the headboard.

‘You drink too much,’ Rhodey says.

Tony snorts. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

‘I thought you had it under control, after last time.’

 _Last time_ is a euphemism for the period after his parents’ death when he’d been drunk more often than he was sober, a period that had lasted all of eleven months until he was finally admitted to hospital with alcohol poisoning, and he’d agreed to cut back a little.

‘Not that simple,’ Tony says, praying Rhodey doesn’t say the word that he knows is front and center in both of their minds right now.

‘I know,’ Rhodey sighs. ‘But why’d you start again?’

Between the intensification of weapons production and the sick guilty feeling that’s taken up permanent residence in the pit of Tony’s stomach, it’s hard to choose the one he wants to tell Rhodey about least. Rhodey will reassure him that the weapons are for the greater good, but that’s not what he wants right now. He doesn’t want to be told that he’s facilitating the killing of the right people; he wants to be told that he’s not facilitating any killing at all.

Which, all in all, makes him feel like the five-year-old he’d been when his dad had first described what Stark Industries did to him.

So he just says, ‘I don’t know,’ and lets the lie hang in Rhodey’s deliberate silence. ‘Why did you break up with Tessa?’ he asks, to change the subject. ‘She was nice.’

‘She broke up with me.’

Tony hadn’t even considered that. The thought of anyone breaking up with _Rhodey_ is incomprehensible. ‘But…you’re amazing,’ he says.

‘Thanks, bro.’

Tony wrinkles his nose. ‘Hate when you call me that,’ he says.

‘Good thing it’s not up to you.’

‘Sure, but if it _was_ ,’ Tony sighs, ‘I like when you call me Tones. No one else calls me that. So it’s special.’

‘It’s just a nickname,’ Rhodey says.

Outside, he hears someone yell that it’s nearly time for the countdown. He laughs, hollow. ‘This’ll be the first year since I was seventeen that no one’s kissed me at midnight,’ he says. Rhodey looks at him, sidelong.

‘How drunk are you?’ he asks.

‘Don’t know how many drinks I drank, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘It’s not.’

‘ _Thirty seconds_ ,’ someone beyond the sanctuary of the door shouts.

‘Bet I could still walk in a straight line,’ he says. Pauses. ‘Except for how I’d still be bi.’

‘God, if you’re making puns that bad I’m glad I cut you off.’

Tony considers defending his pun-making prowess, but chooses to drop his head onto Rhodey’s shoulder instead. Rhodey goes still, which isn’t something he ever used to do, before he takes Tony’s hand, lacing their fingers together. ‘I wish I could make it better for you, Tones,’ he murmurs.

Tony says, ‘You do,’ and he means it. He just wishes it could be enough, all by itself.

The countdown starts, faintly, seeping through the walls.

‘Got any resolutions?’ Tony asks, stifling a yawn.

‘Sure,’ Rhodey says. ‘I’m gonna join a gym.’

Tony giggles. ‘No, seriously.’

‘Fine. I’m going to stop letting my heart get broken.’

‘That’s a good one.’

The cheer that signifies midnight goes up, and Rhodey presses his lips to Tony’s forehead. Tony mumbles, ‘that doesn’t count,’ but he’s already feeling the tendrils of drowsiness slipping over him, hearing the loud bangs of fireworks that had cost him thousands of dollars to prepare. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes to look at them.

Rhodey gently manoeuvres him under the covers, pulling off his jacket and slipping a pillow under his head. ‘Happy New Year, Tones,’ he says, and Tony feels—or thinks he feels—the slight pressure of Rhodey’s lips, not quite on his, but just beside his mouth.

Before he can decide whether he’s imagined it or not, he’s asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen. listen to me. the reason rhodey calls tony stuff like dude/bro/man is because he’s been in love with tony since DAY FUCKING ONE and tony’s too oblivious to realise it so he’s out here calling rhodey cutesy nicknames while rhodey is in a permanent state of internally screaming ‘why the fuck am i love with this idiot!!!' 
> 
> also mama rhodes ships it. so does tessa, probably. there. that’s the meta of my own fic.


	7. take all the courage you have left

_November 2016_

Rhodey says he’s not up to making the trip to his family home for Thanksgiving this year, and Tony can’t bring himself to press the issue. He’s known Rhodey long enough that he’s able to discern how much of the brave face is a farce and how much is genuine recovery, so he calls Mama Rhodes and tells her they’ll be there for Christmas, that they’ll make it up to her.

The problem is that although Tony can mend (or at the very least come up with some kind of solution for) Rhodey’s physical problems, he’s got no idea where to start on the emotional ones—the ones that Tony knows, from experience, are just as bad. Back when he’d come home from captivity in Afghanistan, what feels like a lifetime ago, it hadn’t been the hole in his chest that had made him feel empty. That was easily solved, plugged up with the arc reactor: it was the way that, after three months of living in a cave, his life didn’t feel like it was _his_ anymore. The Tony Stark he’d been felt like a memory, blurry and distant.

He’d thrown himself into being Iron Man, headlong, without a moment to pause and reflect. Rhodey doesn’t have that escape right now—not that it was a healthy one to begin with.

And their situations are hardly comparable, so Tony finds himself floundering, doing his best but never feeling like it’s quite good enough. It’s a common enough feeling for him, but unacceptable when it comes to Rhodey’s well-being.

Everyone else in the compound is going home for the holiday, with the obvious exception of Vision. That’s going to be new; while the living area’s been sparse ever since Steve left, the labs and such have never been empty during the day. It shouldn’t be a problem, since Tony barely pays attention to the employees these days (which is so different from before, when he’d made a point to learn everyone’s name, to say _good morning_ at the very least), but still…it’s going to be _quiet_. Plus, Tony has no idea how to go about cooking Thanksgiving dinner, and it feels too depressing to order takeout.

Rhodey tells him not to worry about it, which of course has the exact opposite effect. He’s not sure how long it’s going to take to recover from shame Googling “how to cook a turkey”.

By Thursday morning, Tony’s no closer to working out a plan—which is why he almost passes out from relief when Mama Rhodes calls him and says that she, Jeanette, Lila and Jeanette’s partner Martin are at the airport, and can he please send someone to pick them up.

‘You didn’t have to…’ he starts, feeling absurd and on the brink of tears. Mama Rhodes shushes him.

‘Thanksgiving is a time for family,’ she says, ‘and I’m sure as hell going to see mine.’

~

They stay for the better part of a week, with Lila insinuating herself in Tony’s workshop and insisting he teaches her everything he knows before she starts at MIT next fall. Jeanette and Martin use the free childcare to their advantage and take a couple of day trips into Manhattan, while Mama Rhodes—well, she spends almost every waking minute berating Tony and Rhodey.

‘You cannot be living,’ she says, rooting through the refrigerator, ‘on beer and mustard.’

Grocery shopping is the sort of thing Pepper used to do—not because Tony has wildly out-dated views on gender roles, but because he genuinely just forgets most of the time. Between spending a few hours in a supermarket or secluding himself in his workshop for the day, he’ll always choose the latter. Possibly, being a billionaire, he could employ someone to do grocery shopping for him. Although that might be a little too sad, even for him.

‘We’re _not_ , Mom,’ Rhodey whines, in the kind of voice Tony ever hears him use with his family. It must be some sort of regression to childhood, because it’s the most petulant he’s capable of getting.

Tony, feeling obligated to back him up, gestures somewhat sheepishly at the takeout menus that are stuck to the fridge.

‘I raised you to take care of yourself,’ she says, throwing a loaf of bread that’s three weeks out of date into the garbage. ‘And _you_ —’ she continues, pointing an accusing finger at Tony. He resists the urge to gulp. ‘—are meant to be helping him.’

With a sick, lurching feeling, Tony wonders for the first time if Mama Rhodes blames him for Rhodey’s accident. If she thinks, like he sometimes does, _how could he make all those upgrades to the suit and forget a_ parachute _?_  

‘I’m doing my best,’ he mumbles guiltily.

‘I know you are,’ Rhodey cuts in, fingers brushing the small of Tony’s back. Tony tries not to lean into it, then wonders why he’s trying.

Mama Rhodes’ face softens as she watches them. ‘I love you boys,’ she says. ‘But you need to stop worrying me like this. An old woman can only take so much.’

~

On Sunday, Martin asks where the best church is nearby, and Tony stares at him for a full fifteen seconds before realising it’s not a joke.

‘Right, yeah,’ he says. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘You’re not religious?’ Martin asks.

‘I didn’t think you were.’

Jeanette and Martin have been together for—Tony’s not entirely sure, but it’s probably more than a year. This is the first time he’s been alone with the man, who’s mostly been quiet and reserved at previous gatherings.

‘I suppose I should’ve guessed,’ Martin responds, ‘with your whole _scientist_ thing, that you’d reject God out of hand.’

Tony’s not accustomed to _scientist_ sounding that much like a bad word. He shrugs. ‘I gave the Bible a go,’ he says. ‘It didn’t really speak to me.’

Martin’s smile is an excruciating mix of pitying and condescending, so Tony takes out his phone and searches for local churches. ‘Which denomination are you?’ he asks, wanting to get out of this conversation as soon as humanly possible but also not wanting to piss off Jeanette, who is as formidable as ever.

For the next ten minutes, he’s subjected to Martin’s theology 101 debate about whether the very concept of denominations is damaging to the faith. This, Tony thinks, is why he was better off when most of his friends were robots.

~

When he manages to get away and down to his workshop, Lila’s there, with one of his suits laid out in front of her. She’s studying the chest plate with furrowed-brow, chewed-lip concentration, and Tony finds himself smiling in a way he hasn’t, lately, whenever he’s seen his suits. He pushes a screwdriver onto the floor, and Lila startles at the sound.

‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I didn’t—I only wanted to take a look.’

‘Yeah, that’s fine,’ he says, moves over to crouch beside her. ‘See anything you like?’

‘It’s just…a lot. It must be difficult to fly, with everything you’ve got to keep track of. Even with JAR—sorry, FRIDAY, I just don’t know how you manage to stop yourself from, like, exploding in midair because you forgot to keep track of ventilation or one of the thrusters was a milimeter off-center.’

It’s Tony’s turn to be startled. People never talk about what it’s like to pilot the suit; a side effect of _being_ Iron Man is that people seem to believe the suit is organically a part of him, as easy to control as his own limbs. The truth is, most times he spends a long time in it he ends up with a splitting migraine from trying to manage the myriad of functions that keep the Iron Man suit operational. Of all the people he expected to notice, a seventeen-year-old who hasn’t even got her driver’s license yet wouldn’t have been his first guess.

‘It isn’t easy,’ he admits. ‘But you get used to it after a while.’

‘Helps when you’re a genius,’ she says.

‘Well, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? Are you angling for a go in one of these?’

Lila laughs. ‘I’m alright down here on the ground, thanks.’ She runs her finger over the dark slits of the suit’s eyes. ‘But…Uncle Rhodey’s not a genius.’

‘Depends who you ask,’ Tony says.

She rolls her eyes. ‘In the technical sense. I know he’s _smart_ , obviously. But you let him have a suit.’

‘He’s the best pilot I’ve ever known,’ Tony says, and tries not to think about how he crashed.

~

He’d had to go the week without any sessions with Emma, because she’d been on holiday with her partner in England and, although she told him he could call her anytime if something was wrong, he wasn’t a complete dick.

As soon as she gets back on Monday, however, he insinuates himself in her waiting room at seven in the morning and waits until she gets there at eight. The receptionist is asleep with his head on the desk, the tinny sound of Muse creeping out of his headphones. Tony’s knee bounces in time with the faint music; his fingers drum nervously against his thigh.

It’s not that he doesn’t love Rhodey’s family, but the influx of people in his home (people who don’t walk on eggshells around him, specifically) is enough to get him voluntarily into Emma’s office on a day when he’s not scheduled for a session, so there’s that.

His first instinct is to label the expression on Emma’s face when she sees him as exasperation, but she’s specifically warned him against making these kinds of assumptions, so he forces down the sensation of being unwanted—a burden—and waves at her, trying to summon the confidence for a confident smirk, a tossed _miss me?_

‘Good Thanksgiving?’ she asks, unlocking the door of her office. Her pencil skirt is slightly creased, like she hasn’t had a chance to iron it since she got back. It’s endearing and goes a long way towards making him feel at ease.

‘I’ve had better.’

She makes a sympathetic noise as she pushes the door open and steps aside to let him pass into the room. ‘Sorry to hear that.’

‘It wasn’t bad,’ Tony says. ‘Or it shouldn’t have been. I should’ve had fun.’

‘But did you?’

He sits down and immediately starts playing with the frayed threads protruding from the arm of the chair.

‘Sorry to just come in like this. I didn’t know whether you did drop-in sessions.’

‘For the amount you’re paying me…’ she says, grinning.

‘There were moments when I was having fun,’ he says. ‘But they were…moments. And then they’d pass and I—it was like I wanted everyone to leave, but I didn’t want to be alone. Or I’d be in a room full of people but it was like I wasn’t really there. Does that make sense?’

‘When you say it felt like you weren’t really there, what does that mean exactly?’

He stops for a moment, trying to pin down the phrasing. ‘I could’ve—I should’ve tried harder,’ he says. ‘To join in. But I’d be sat in a room with people who were, y’know, spending quality time together, and it felt like something I was observing from a long way away.’

‘Who exactly were you spending Thanksgiving with?’

‘Rhodey’s family. Vision was there too, obviously, but I think the concept of human holidays is a bit beyond him.’

‘Do you think that you felt separated from them because of the lack of a familial bond?’ Emma suggests.

She’s wide of the mark, but he appreciates her attempt at finding an explanation. ‘No,’ he says, ‘because Martin—that’s Rhodey’s sister’s boyfriend—was there, and they haven’t been together nearly as long as I’ve been spending Thanksgiving with the Rhodes’. Normally it feels like I _am_ one of the family.’

‘Did you tell Rhodey how you felt?’

Tony’s shaking his head before she even finishes asking the question. ‘I’ve gotta stop—look, I know you think my mental health is, like, priority number one but Rhodey’s—he’s going through shit as well and I just wanted him to have a couple of days without me being all like, _well I’ve got depression and you need to constantly hear about it_.’

‘That’s the first time you’ve used the term “depression” during our sessions,’ Emma comments.

He sighs. ‘Yeah, I know. Thought I’d better say it out loud, see how it feels.’

‘And?’

‘Didn’t feel like I was lying.’

‘Did you think it would?’

He shrugs, knowing she’ll take it for the _yes_ it really is.

‘I know you like to think that you’re an unwanted presence in people’s lives,’ Emma says, ‘but Rhodey cares about you. You know he calls me pretty regularly, asks how you are?’

‘What do you tell him?’ Tony asks, not knowing what to do with the warm feeling blooming in his chest.

‘I’m still bound by doctor-patient confidentiality, don’t worry. But I do try to give him a general sense of where you’re at and what he can do to help.’

Tony rubs a hand over his face. ‘He shouldn’t _have_ to help.’

‘In an ideal world, no one would ever have to help anybody else. But it’s not an ideal world, and everyone needs support sometimes. You do your best to support Rhodey, and he does his best in return.’

‘He just.’ And Tony stops for a moment, because he knows his voice is on the edge of breaking. ‘He deserves better than me.’

~

Later that day, when Mama Rhodes is making vegetable soup and Lila is working self-sufficiently in the workshop, Tony lets himself into Rhodey’s room. Rhodey’s in bed even though it’s only six pm, curled up on his side beneath several blankets. He’s not asleep.

‘Long day?’ Tony asks. It’s dark, with the curtains drawn and the light off, and he picks his way carefully over to the other side of the bed. He sits down, back against the headboard, and allows one socked foot to nudge Rhodey’s shoulder-blade.

‘I’m just tired,’ Rhodey says, ‘but I can’t sleep.’

Tony hums his acknowledgement. ‘Want me to leave you alone?’

‘No, it’s…you can stay. How was therapy?’

‘I didn’t tell you where I was going,’ Tony says, running his toes gently along the ridges of Rhodey’s spine.

‘You didn’t have to.’

‘Emma told me that you call her, sometimes, to ask how I’m doing,’ Tony mumbles, not knowing how to make it sound casual. ‘I wanted to—thank you. You don’t have to do that.’

‘It’s not like _you’d_ tell me if you weren’t okay,’ Rhodey responds, but there’s such warmth in his voice that Tony feels like he’s basking in it. ‘But you’re welcome.’

‘I love you,’ Tony says, and when the words come out his heart feels too loud, thumping inside his ears. That’s new.

‘You too, buddy.’

Tony chooses to ignore the weirdness of his physiological reaction—he’s told Rhodey he loves him thousands of times before, after all, and it’s never felt like this—and instead reaches out in the darkness for Rhodey’s hand. With their fingers laced together, he feels the concerning thud of his pulse slow back down. He relaxes against the pillows and closes his eyes, everything focusing down to the sweep of Rhodey’s thumb against the back of his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it's been a while. 
> 
> if you've stuck it out this far, i'd like to say thank you. can i guarantee future updates will be more regular? probably not, but the good news is that i've signed up for some counselling of my own and i'm really hopeful that it'll help me uncover my long lost motivation and energy to write with


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